Nexus of Polarity: Awakening
by Captain Baba
Summary: A bond made, a tournament lost, a death averted, another hastened and a resurrection postponed. The changes may seem simple but as the premise has diverged so greatly, the changes will too become greater and greater. Book 2 of the Nexus of Polarity Series
1. Chapter 1 - Blackest Night

" _Text"_ – Thoughts

" **Text"** – Spellcast

" _Text"_ – Non-English Words

 _Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does_

 _Welcome to the second installment of my telling of how the HP universe would have gone if a simple event had occurred at the end of trio's third year. I highly encourage you to read through the first story before starting this one, simply because there have been so many changes that have transpired, as well as a few characters who were introduced in the previous installment. This story takes place between 1995-1996, or the characters' fifth year at Hogwarts. I hope you all enjoy my writing and feel free to leave a review!_

* * *

 _ **Prologue**_

 _Date: Unknown_

 _Location: Unknown_

Time is one of the strangest things that humankind has discovered, or invented as some would say. It moves unpredictably in one direction, faster or slower depending on how what the perceiver is doing or feeling.

Time gets even more complicated when not just one timeline is considered. In some worlds, every single choice made would cause the birth of two or more extremely similar timelines. This effectively creates an infinitely spanning co-temporal multiverse, where each universe has concurrent time but exists at different points of space. After some time, the two timelines are so different that one who travelled between the two would wonder how two things that originated from the same point could be so different.

The change however is gradual, as seen in the previous year that had passed. A bond made, a tournament lost, a death averted, another hastened and a resurrection postponed. The changes may seem simple but as the premise has diverged so greatly, the changes will too become greater and greater.

And so, time continues to flow …

* * *

 _ **Chapter 1 – Blackest Night**_

 _Date: Saturday, July 7_ _th_ _1995_

 _Location: Unknown Field, Macedonia_

Silence reigned in the large open field, under the cloudy sky which obstructed much of the starlight. There were no people nearby even though it wasn't particularly late at night. To be fair, this was a very secluded location which had been veiled from wizard and muggle eyes alike by a very strong barrier.

However, that is not to say that there were no sentient beings that were on this land. A peculiar mouse was scurrying at an astonishing rate between the blades of grass, dodging around other animals, insects or rocks as it hurried along on the ground. The air around it was still, as though the entire field knew that something was about to happen.

Something important.

The mouse hurried along, running towards what appeared to be a rather small group of boulders that sat clustered together at the side of the field. Counter-intuitively, rather than slowing down to avoid the boulders, the mouse picked up its speed and dove straight into the nearest one … and passed straight through. The boulders had been enchanted with the **Intangibility Charm** , one of the many charms that was cast on the magical gates of Platform 9 ¾ in King's Cross Station back in London.

The mouse landed without a sound, courtesy of the 'trackless step' potion that it had taken before it had started on its journey. And thus, despite the mouse's great speed that it took as it scampered across the underground cave.

The surrounding walls reeked of some unnatural smell, foul to the general human nose but almost painful to any being or beast with a sense of smell greater. This was one of the most iconic signs of what was inside the cave.

The mouse scampered along until it reached what appeared to be a clearing of sorts within the cave. The area was extremely dim for there was only a few small torches of fire that illuminated the cave as a whole, one of which was situated inside the cave. Luckily however, the dim and dank conditions of the cave was perfect for its current denizens.

Without warning, the mouse began to change rapidly. Small paws elongated dramatically, forming hands and feet, the right hand missing its index finger. The mouse's midsection widened considerably, becoming the belly of a rather rotund man. Lastly, the small, almost cute-looking head of the mouse morphed into the visage of a solemn and unkempt man with wide crimson eyes and pointed nose. There stood the form of Peter Pettigrew.

While the person standing in the cave appeared to be Pettigrew, the aura that he gave out was vastly different. Pettigrew's usual terrified uncertainty was completely replaced by the serious and focused expression that the man currently donned. Pettigrew's usually hunched, quivering posture had become one of power and even arrogance in poise.

"Greyback! Get out here!" 'Pettigrew' snarled. Gone was the squeaky, mild voice that usually came out of his mouth.

A few moments later, the man that had been addressed walked out. The man looked absolutely vicious, with a savage look on his face. His skin was extremely pale, his eyes bloodshot and yellow teeth showing from the feral grin on his face. This was Fenrir Greyback, considered the most brutal and deadly werewolf alive since 'The Jackal' had passed away almost two centuries ago.

Fenrir walked until her was three steps away from Pettigrew's feet before he kneeled down. It was a strange sight to behold, seeing the six-foot-three tall werewolf kneel before the five-foot-five Peter Pettigrew.

"My Lord," he said softly, with the hint of a growl.

"Your request has been complete. The events cumulating woman's downfall are occurring as we speak," 'Pettigrew' said dismissively. Fenrir's eyes widened and be immediately bowed his head further.

"Thank you your lordship!" he said graciously. Around them, a slew of murmurs could from the surroundings. 'Pettigrew' smirked.

"Why don't our friends join us for this occasion?" he said. Fenrir's eyes widened momentarily before he quickly nodded. Fenrir looked back at the cave passages behind him and snarled loudly. A few moments later, the pack of werewolves that had been watching the exchange quickly assembled behind Fenrir, all kneeling like their leader had been. Satisfied, Fenrir looked back at 'Pettigrew', knowing exactly what to do.

"We pledge allegiance to you and your cause, as per our agreement two weeks prior," Fenrir said, limiting his snarling as much as he could. This was an even stranger sight to see, watching the savage werewolf attempt to speak somewhat formally towards the diminutive man. 'Pettigrew' smiled wickedly.

"Rise, Greyback," he commanded. Fenrir did so without hesitation and looked into the scarlet orbs that Peter's eyes were. A moment of silence passed between the two men.

"What is your first command, my lord,' Fenrir growled out. 'Pettigrew' smirked.

"Do as I had you do twenty-five years ago, during what they have been calling the 'Modern British Wizarding War'. Raise our army amongst the dark creatures that walk our land and be it's general." Fenrir swallowed hard.

"Will that be all, my lord," he asked somewhat tentatively. 'Pettigrew's' expression quickly turned to that of a glare. In an instant, the entire cave was filled with a sort of 'killing intent' emitted by the short yet highly intimidating man. Some of the werewolves in the crowd almost fell down out of surprise and fright.

"You should feel lucky to even remain in my service!" roared the enraged man. "Considering how you did not search for me at all through these years and the disrespectful welcome that I received when I first arrived here. You should be thankful that your lord is merciful"

A dead silence.

Fenrir swallowed and bowed his head. It was far more than he expected (and in his opinion deserved). For now, he would stay content with being able to serve his lord from afar.

"Thank you, my lord." 'Pettigrew' nodded neutrally.

"You are dismissed."

Similar to how they entered, the pack of werewolves seemed to vanish as they quickly vacated the area, leaving 'Pettigrew' alone. He smirked.

It wasn't that difficult to convince _that_ woman to do something stupid. After all, that woman was far to prejudiced for her own good. One little push and …

'Pettigrew' cackled to himself as he began to morph back into his rodent form. Now, all he had to do was watch as the accursed British Ministry of Magic crumbled under its own folly. Dumbledore would not know what hit him when he had to fight a war on two fronts.

Without another thought, Lord Voldemort, possessing Peter Pettigrew's body began his long journey back to his 'base of operations'. If all went well, not only would he destroy an enemy and regain a strong ally, but also rid himself from his greatest weakness. The clouds above him had clustered greatly enough that it had begun to rain.

"A sign of things to come…" he murmured to himself

* * *

 _Location: Wizengamot Conference Room, British Ministry of Magic_

Miles away, in a very different location, an extremely different meeting was taking place far underneath the city of London. Above them, millions of muggles bustled around doing their daily activities. None of them were aware of the gargantuan building that was situated miles underneath them, where this meeting was taking place.

The meeting room was very old, even older than the rest of the building around it. After all the Wizengamot had predated the rest of the Ministry of magic by exactly three centuries and their exalted hall was just as ancient. The architecture of the room was reminiscent of Roman and Greek styles, even structured like that of a closed-top amphitheatre. On the wall behind Albus lay the crest of the Wizengamot, a set of scales balanced by a large 'M' with the motto ' _ignorantia juris neminem excusat_ ' – the ignorance of law is no excuse, written around it.

As usual, the room was very dimly lit, only offering the barest of light for any person in the room to see any other, excluding the person standing in the spotlight of course. This was a tradition that dated back even to the days of the Wizards' Council, the organization that governed magical Britain even before the Wizengamot's formation, allowing a certain amount of anonymity for everyone in the room. Not that it really mattered to Albus Brian Wulfric Percival Dumbledore, who had long since memorised the places that each person would take in the room.

The chief warlock had been sitting in his seat for some time by now, having waited almost half an hour as the members of the 'sacred' order had begun filing in. Naturally, some of the members had dawdled to the last moment before walking in, a sign of spite that they had for the old headmaster.

Albus looked around the giant hall. Though he didn't really need to 'look' at the different members to discern their identity, he did so anyway as a sign of courtesy, much like how an adult would pretend to not know the answer to a simple question posed by a child. Surprisingly, many of the seats were filled today, probably the closest to a full house as the Wizengamot could come given the vacant spots that had yet to be retaken.

Albus looked to the seats that were situated higher than the others, many more of which were left vacant than those filled. These were the seats reserved for the representatives of Noble and Ancient, or higher ranking Houses.

" _Black,"_ he mentally thought, nodding at the empty seats. _"Crouch, Selwyn, Archi – oh wait..."_

In place of the seat that had been left vacant by Lord Archibald's death last year, a rather nervous looking youth was sitting on the seat, seemingly fiddling with the hem of his robes. Albus frowned. He had heard of this 'Velvet' person but had yet to see him in person. Apparently, this person had been one of the late lord Archibald's students and had also been one of the last people to see the man before his unexpected demise in Japan. Albus made a note to speak with this unknown man after the meeting as he continued his gaze across the room.

" _Gaunt … Dolohov, Travers, Rosier, Lestrange, Avery, Bones …"_ Many of these houses were either functionally (given that all its living members were incarcerated in Azkaban) or outright extinct as a result of the war. Some of those seats, only had members who were still underage and thus could not formally sit on the Wizengamot. The Bones seat was in a similar predicament as the only overage member of that family was Madame Amelia Bones, head of the DMLE and thus granted a seat on the council anyway.

By now, the great oak doors that lead into the dim hall had been shut and Albus quickly got up to call the court into session, shelving his thoughts in favour of trying to solve the question he had on his mind. Just what was this meeting for?

Cornelius was usually quite transparent with the reasons why he would ask Albus to call a meeting, a habit that he had not followed for this time. Albus had been wondering for some time now as to why Cornelius called such an urgent meeting and the details it entailed. As rare as it was, Albus had still yet to figure out the exact reasons as to why Cornelius has done as he did.

It didn't help that Cornelius himself was sitting a few feet away from Albus himself looking quite worried at the vacant seat next to him. Albus frowned. The Minister of Magic was rarely ever at one of the Wizengamot meetings, only for the ones that involved major discussions such as the amendment of a law or something of equal or greater severity. Oh well, the time for the meeting to start had arrived anyway.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Wizengamot!" Albus called with a loud voice that he had practiced almost a century using. "I wish to begin today's session by introducing our Minister of Magic, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, who will be presenting the issues that will be discussed over the course of the session."

Mild applause sounded around as the portly Minister rose received his greeting. Albus frowned. It appeared that many of the people in the room had already known that Cornelius would be attending this session. This meant that something important was at play.

Cornelius stood up, looking rather wearily at Albus as the portly man walked onto the podium at the center of the room.

"Thank you Albus," Cornelius said with an equally tired tone. The minister gave Albus a sharp glance, as though Cornelius were trying to intimidate. Albus smiled pleasantly and allowed for him to continue.

"This morning, my Undersecretary has sent you all a package containing information provided to us by the Hogwarts board of governors, containing some potentially disturbing news that is clear for all of us to see."

A few nods and murmurs around the room while Albus looked somewhat surprised. The governors had not spoken to him at all about any issues they had, as they usually would. With an internal frown, it began dawning on Albus just wha the issue to be discussed was going to be.

"For those of you who did not receive or read the package, it details how the scores of Hogwarts' annual Defence Against the Dark Arts examinees in all papers have been declining for the past few decades," Cornelius began.

Murmurs of agreement and anger broke out within the crowd as Albus had to reapply his occlumency shields to make sure he did not show any facial expression. He knew exactly where Cornelius was bringing this discussion, and it was definitely not something he wanted to deal with any further.

"Naturally, the school board has done an investigation on the matter and what was found was quite disturbing," Cornelius continued. Albus had to resist the temptation to chuckle. The 'investigation' that they did would really not have amounted to much, given that the answer to why the D.A.D.A scores were declining was so obvious. Well, probably not to many of the people sitting in the hall with them, given that the average age of a British Wizengamot member was around ninety-one years of age.

"It has been found that the school has not had any single Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher that has stayed for more than one full school year!"

A few gasps of surprise flitted around the conference hall and Albus had to refrain from reacting. How completely oblivious could these people be, having not noticed that quite obvious fact. It was almost as though someone had intentionally made it so that no-one paid any sort of attention to the goings-on at Hogwarts after they had left school. For Merlin's sake, the school governors didn't even seem to care much most of the time!

"How? Why?" came the voice of Charles Prewitt, the super-centenarian lord of the Noble House of Prewitt. Albus almost raised an eyebrow at the man, who currently had seven relatives that were still in Hogwarts. Just how unobservant could some of these people be?

"If there is a general cause for this, it is currently unknown," Cornelius replied.

" _Incorrect,"_ Albus mentally rebutted, though he knew very well that it was futile to say anything. Even if anybody in the room believe him that Voldemort had jinxed the post thirty-eight years ago, it was not like any of them could actually help the situation, given how the Hogwartian wards worked against people viewed as 'outsiders'.

"Can we do anything about it?" asked Olenna Abbot, Lady of the Noble House of Abbot. Albus gave a sideways glance at Augusta Longbottom, Dowager Lady of the Noble and Ancient House of Longbottom, who had glanced irritatedly at her colleague. It appeared that not everyone was as clueless about the situation as they seemed.

"While the cause is unknown as of yet, the school board has _reached out_ to me with a solution. For the Ministry to appoint a person to the post of teacher of the Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Unlike last time, silence greeted Cornelius as he finished speaking. Albus knew exactly why. The Wizengamot, and by extension the Ministry as a whole, was not allowed to interfere with Hogwarts' affairs unless under the request of either one of the founders (and their heirs) or the resident headmaster _and_ the entire school governing board. While very few knew about that exact treaty, the fact that something like this hadn't happened in over three centuries was quite known. For the entire board of school governors to agree on something, that was something that had not happened for a long time (unless they were under duress of course).

"Why?" came Augusta Longbottom's voice. Every eye turned towards the relatively young witch, who had spoken in a tone so sharp that it reminded them of a time when they had gotten scolded by a teacher back in their school days. Even Cornelius seemed surprised (and somewhat scared) but coughed and answered her query.

"From the reasons they have pushed forth, the governors seemed rather concerned with the latest few people who had held to post. Specifically, a fraudster, a werewolf and a high-profile psychopath these past three years."

More murmurs and gasps echoed around the room and Albus began to feel somewhat irritated by the glares that were in his direction. He of course was able to ignore them but it still bothered him that these people were so ill-informed.

"Very well then, who should we elect?" came the voice of one Lucius Malfoy. Albus turned his gaze at the man, careful to not add to much killing intent to his gaze as he could. Albus remembered the incident almost three years prior where Lucius had indirectly caused the petrification of four muggle-borns, a ghost and a cat at his school. Albus was many things, but a headmaster first and foremost. If someone were to wreak havoc on his school… well, Barty Crouch Junior knew exactly what came from that. Cornelius meanwhile had taken out a sheet of parchment.

"After conferring with my advisors, I decided to appoint Dolores Jane Umbridge, my Senior Undersecretary for the role. I am sure that –"

"Pardon me, Minister Fudge but I have a query."

All eyes turned back to Augusta Longbottom, who once again had a sharp gaze at the minister. Cornelius gulped and gestured towards her.

"Go ahead, Lady Longbottom." Augusta coughed and stood up.

"Now, I may be getting quite old," she started with a vaguely snide tone. Albus saw a few members of the older members of the Wizengamot bristle slightly as Albus himself sighed slightly. Let it be known that even at the old age of eighty-nine, Augusta Longbottom was still as ferocious as she had been in his classroom more than seven decades ago.

"… but if I recall correctly from my friend Grezzy, Dolores Umbridge scored pitifully on her Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L."

The hall was once again muted as they processed the words that were just said. Cornelius's face had turned a mixture of embarrassment and confusion while his aides around him had cold facades on that only barely betrayed their nervousness.

"I have heard the same," came the voice of Lord Robert Greengrass, one of the few people here who was not the current head of his family. The man glared outwards at everyone, flooding the room with a seemingly cool air in a manner reminiscent of his son's equally strong aura. Cornelius coughed.

"I am sorry, Lady Longbottom, Lord Greengrass but you both must be mistaken. Dolores scored full marks on her theoretical exam for the O.W.L. and the N.E.W.T. sections of Defence Against the Dark Arts, hence my decision to appoint her." Augusta didn't even let a moment pass before she spoke again.

"Really but then what grades did she get on her practical examinations then? According to what _Griselda_ has told me, the poor girl could barely muster an Acceptable on her overall attainment." The hall was once again silent as no-one wanted to speak out.

Griselda Marchbank's name held an extremely large amount of weight in the room, despite rumors that she had gone slightly senile in the past few years. This was because of the fact that she held seniority over everyone in the room, even including Albus himself on the board. Having served the board since before Henry Potter's public ostracization, Professor Marchbanks was still held in high regard, whether or not she was in the room or otherwise. Cornelius stood up.

"Very well then Lady Longbottom, if you are so opposed to Dolores's appointment as Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, I assume you have a better candidate in mind?" Augusta looked irritated. It was clear that she hadn't thought of one yet.

"Allow me then," replied Lord Robert. Everyone turned to him in surprise. Almost everyone here knew enough about the old Greengrass to know that he generally disliked involving himself in matters not concerning his house (a fact that had made almost three quarters of the hall hold a grudge on him). For him to speak not once but twice in a session was strange.

"To suit everybody's wishes, I nominate the Head of the Investigation Department, Pius of the Thicknesse family as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."

A few mutters of surprise around the room as Albus's eyes narrowed a fraction. Robert was making a shrewd move as usual, proposing a candidate that was highly qualified yet in a spot which could be replaced without too many problems, given the disproportionately high number of talented investigators in the department.

To the politically minded, Thicknesse was somewhat an anomaly, having come from a second-generation half-blood father and pure-blood mother, thus establishing him as 'pure-blood' in most eyes. His upbringing has thus lead him to lean on neither side of the muggle issue, thus putting him neutral at best with both sides. Coupled with his extremely pro-Ministry actions, it would serve Cornelius well as a person to put in 'check' of Albus, a fact that the wizened headmaster knew all too well that many of the members here would be happy about. Albus also idly remembered a small incident more than a few decades ago where House Greengrass had intervened on behalf of the then House Thicknesse regarding a certain muggle war…

Albus put on a grudging smile. He knew that since Thicknesse had already been nominated, neither light nor dark would accept a less 'worthy' candidate. It was, annoyingly, another political battle to be fought and with all the experience Albus had, he knew that settling for Pius Thicknesse would be his best option.

The murmurs around the room seemed to indicate a similar though that permeated around. Cornelius looked around with a worried look on his face. He had been discussing with his advisors about the issue and had seemingly not gotten a particularly good discussion from them. Noticing that the commotion had begun to die down, Cornelius got up again.

"Even if we did wish to appoint Mr. Thicknesse, we would require his agreement in the matter," Cornelius said quickly. Albus noted that the man was perspiring more than usual and watched interestedly. His aides looked somewhat exasperated at him, hmm…

"That would not be a problem," Lord Robert replied commandingly, brandishing out a document that he quickly transported to Albus's hand. The old headmaster was hardly surprised, having known many less far-thinking men to have done something similar. He quickly looked through the document and read out the last line.

"… I, Pius of the Thickness family do hereby accept the appointment as Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Cornelius looked extremely surprised and turned back to where Robert was a moment ago. However, the man had already receded back into the shadows. Gulping, the minister began to notice many of the eyes in the hall staring right at him.

Albus sighed. While he would have preferred to have elected his own professor, the seemingly random interference of the school's governors would have overwritten his authority (and only the founders or their heirs could override that authority). Albus wisely chose to not contest the school's magic, knowing full well that Pius Thicknesse would be gone from his school by the end of the year, one way or another. The chief warlock stood up, his steel-grey robes flourishing as he walked to the center podium. With a loud voice he addressed the court.

"We shall now commence the voting for the appointment of Pius of the Thicknesse family as Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Those in favour?"

A torrent of hands shot up into the air. Albus's eyes darted around, quickly counting the number of people that had their hands raised. There were fifty-three Wizengamot members present, full attendance as the remaining nineteen seats were to be retaken. Out of these fifty-three, thirty had already had their hands up. Albus quickly noted the people who didn't yet have their hands raised, including Lucius Malfoy, Jericho Nott and a few others. Albus himself had his hand raised.

"Those against?"

A much smaller number of hands were raised, including Lucius's and Jericho's hands as well as a few of their allies and random members. However, it was clear which lay as the majority. Albus turned to Cornelius, who was now nervously looking from the Wizengamot to the empty seat next to him.

Albus took a moment to think. That seat would usually be reserved for the minister's Senior Undersecretary, whom would have been Dolores Umbridge, the woman that had been mentioned in the session already. It seemed odd that the woman would not have attended the session herself, especially given all the information Albus had of her. Something strange was going on and judging from Cornelius's jumpiness, he didn't know either.

Suddenly, a pang of pain erupted somewhere in Albus's body, almost causing him to wince. His mind went into overdrive, trying to figure out its source as Cornelius stood up.

"Very well. As of this moment, Pius of the Thicknesse family is hereby appointed as the Professor of –"

A large flash of green light emanated from a spot somewhere in the dim chamber, causing everyone to look in that direction. The small green emerald on Lord Robert Greengrass's right ring finger was flashing urgently. Everyone watched as the man's face turned from surprise to shock and then to absolute horror, an expression that none in this room had ever seen on his face. Lord Robert took a moment before his face became stonier than before as he spoke.

"Pardon me, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Wizengamot," he said rather stiffly, "It appears that I have an immediate family emergency that I must attend to and thus must take my leave." Without waiting for any response, the man tossed a handful of green powder behind him and vanished into the flames of the fireplace.

* * *

 _Location: Ridgebit Dragon Sanctuary, Romania (UTC+3)_

It had been yet another peaceful night at the sanctuary. Given that most dragons were diurnal, the sanctuary had been almost eerily silent for the past two hours since night had formally fallen. However, Azulong was yet again the odd one, sitting (laying) wide awake despite the late hour. It wasn't as if she could help it, something was bothering her but she couldn't quite place what it was.

Even the humans seemed to be mostly asleep, save for the occasional visit from the fire-head human, whom Azulong grudgingly liked (not that she would ever admit it to anyone) because of the attention he paid to her. It almost felt as though she were back in the _Snow-Dwelling Mountains_ , where she was treated as a princess (despite herself not really acknowledging that title).

Nothing of interest had happened since Lord Thunderer had departed for Tartarus, though that was to be expected for this highly uneventful place. In the fourteen years she had been in this reserve, Azulong could probably count with her two claws the number of 'interesting' events that had transpired.

This summer could already be considered somewhat more 'eventful' than the previous few had been as the five-year long incubation period of the resident Ukrainian Ironbelly's eggs was finally drawing to a close. Azulong trumpeted a jet of fire into the air. Finally, that pesky _Gheehn_ would stop taking so much of the food.

Thinking about the eggs brought the Chinese Fireball's thoughts back to the last time she had to deal with eggs, wherein she had been somewhat humiliated by that human hatchling over seven moon-cycles ago, a fact that she knew would highly unlikely be forgotten any time soon. After all, dragons had particularly long memories.

The details of the fight were still remarkably clear and Azulong could make out the distinct actions that the both of them did. It had become almost a hobby of Azulong to reanalyse the skirmish over and over for pure interest. Somewhere inside her, she hoped that she would be able to meet that hatchling again and confront him for a rematch. Let it be known that Azulong, eighteenth of her name, Granddaughter of Shao-Lao would never leave her pride unavenged.

As the crimson scaled dragon blew a small stream of fire into the upwards with that thought, the air around her seemed to chill slightly. Through her acute senses, Azulong easily detected the shift in temperature and drooped down, snarling quietly as she tried to scope out the surroundings.

Azulong knew that there were very few beings that were capable of dropping the temperature so subtly, many of them incredibly dangerous, even to a Chinese Fireball like herself. While she had been acclimated into the cold due to her former home in the mountains, she knew that many of the other dragons here would be very vulnerable to such a shift in temperature. While Azulong wasn't particularly fond of any of the other dragons, she at least felt a kinship with everyone else.

The large dragon moved around quietly, watching the walls of 'her' cave as she walked out into the field outside. She had begun to gather fire in her recently recovered flame-sac which had been damaged in the battle against the human. Hopefully, she was just mistaken and that there were no actual adversaries to fight.

Azulong made it out of the cave and began to scan the surroundings using all of her senses. Unlike almost all other dragon sanctuaries, enclosures or other facilities, the Ridgebit Sanctuary did not impose any physical or magical bonds on the dragons, something that old Harvey Ridgebit, the founder of the Sanctuary had insisted upon very ardently. For this reason, Azulong was free to roam the land if she wished, though she rarely had the reason to.

Azulong continued to scan the grounds, trying to detect what the source of the cold was. Like many other animals and magical beasts, Azulong possessed a far greater sense of smell than that of human beings, though her sight was marginally worse than that of the average human. Fortunately, the scope of her sight extended to what the humans generally called the 'infrared' spectrum, allowing her to pick up on heat sources with ease.

With a snarl of frustration, Azulong stomped as she found herself completely unable to detect where the cold was originating from. Strangely, it seemed almost as though it was coming from all directions, prickling at her scaly skin. Annoyed, Azulong dissipated the fire in her sac, allowing the heat to travel around her body, making her scales glow as their temperature rose.

Azulong creaked her head upwards slightly, allowing herself to glance at the moon. The greyish orb seemed to hang lazily above her, strangely tinted a dark red for some reason or another. Azulong paid it no mind as she continued to look around.

" _Fireball?_ "

Azulong didn't need to turn around to figure out who had just 'addressed' her in that human tongue. It was fire-head, who had as usual come to check up on her. It slightly annoying, though Azulong was slightly grateful that her actions were being noticed, rather than getting ignored like she usually felt.

" _What's wrong?_ "

Azulong shook her head. She had no idea what the human was asking her, given that she had not learnt (nor did she every think to learn) human tongue. Given the context, she assumed that the human was asking of her condition and instead turned around, facing the human.

Contrary to most other humans (and common sense), fire-head human did not flinch at the sight of the massive beast staring at him, instead casting a slightly worried look at her. Azulong almost let out a laugh at the human's bravery (or foolishness, she thought). Azulong turned back towards her cave and was about to begin walking when she suddenly felt a very strange feeling.

Something in her stomach seemed to lurch horribly and Azulong almost felt sick. It took everything she had to keep herself standing, to not show weakness as she had always done. However, fire-head human seemed to notice quickly that something was wrong and had rushed to her side.

" _Fireball?_ _"_

Azulong let out a surprisingly loud shout, causing fire-head human to jump back in surprise. Azulong barely noticed as her mind was focused on whatever was wrong with her. An indescribable sense of rage washed over her as she called out in pain.

It felt like someone was directly attacking her inside, even though there were no enemies present anywhere. The pain continued to grow as Azulong began to writhe. Beginning to get enraged, Azulong quickly pointed her mouth skyward and let out a large fireball into the sky, which blew up midair and its sparks rained down in the area around them.

" _Kairyuseigun?!_ " fire-head human yelped in shock as he blasted himself away from the falling fireballs. Moments later, another bunch of humans showed up. In her angered daze, Azulong barely noticed the humans encircling her. With a few shouts, six jets of red light hit her scaly body, forcing her to the ground.

Subdued but still angry, Azulong had one last thing on her mind. To escape from here when it was next possible. A few more jets of red light hit her, forcing her into a state of slumber.

* * *

 _Location: Water Curtain Cave (UTC +8)_

The being that held the title of Thunderer crashed down in front of the cave's eponymous waterfall, careful to not let any of the stray electricity from his quick descent conduct through the water. He brandished the stick that he always held and raised it before flicking it downwards.

" _Telgja,"_ he mentally incanted. A small wave left the tip of his stick and struck the waterfall, causing the giant structure to split in the middle, revealing the cave's entrance. Thunderer took a few steps into the damp cave before he simply stood still.

"Monkey! It's me. Allow me passage please!" Though silence greeted him, Thunderer couldn't help but smile. While his Mandarin Chinese was not very well practised, at the very least he had not accidentally offended one of his oldest friends by accident.

A small monkey trotted out of the cave and looked at the strangely glowing orange man questioningly. Thunderer reached down and looked at the monkey, who had now begun squealing seemingly indiscriminately. Moments later, a large crowd of monkeys joined the first one. Thunderer took a step back and looked upwards, smiling at the scene. Above him was several outcrops of rocks which lead down to this opening in the cave. On them were several hundred warriors, all trained by the king himself. If needed be, the monkeys could jump down and overwhelm any opponent. Well, almost any.

"You tried this last time, let's get this over with so I don't need to zap anyone," Thunderer said challengingly. As expected, none of the monkeys seemed to understand what Thunderer was saying, though they did seem to pick up on the challenge that had been issued as they responded with a loud chant of their own. Some of the front-most monkeys had taken a few steps forward, as though they were about to pounce. Thunderer saw this and smirked, beginning to glow even brighter than usual.

Without warning, a deafening howl rushed through the cave, causing all the monkeys to freeze in place. Thunderer looked back down to his eye level and saw that an extremely thick black staff was floating in front of him. While not particularly ornate in design, the staff had its two ends stylized with golden rings. Thunderer almost frowned but quickly grabbed ahold of the metal rod and vanished upon contact.

Thunderer found himself transported many hundreds of feet downwards in front of a secret underground waterfall. Around him was a bountiful field of crystalline structures of innumerable different shapes and sizes. It was a beautiful sight to behold, even to Thunderer, who had been here multiple times in the past.

"You going to tell me what you are doing here?" came an extremely gruff voice from underneath the waterfall. Thunderer turned around and peered into the middle of the massive waterfall. The constant crashing of the torrential water produced a large amount of vision-obscuring spray but the electromagus was able to see a figure present.

"Please old friend," he chortled lightly, "I know that you already had to move from your position to prevent your troops from engaging me in combat. Stop being a stranger and come out from under there."

The monkey within the waters grumbled before disappearing for a moment. Without a sound, he teleported right behind Thunderer. The orange-glowing being smirked and turned around. His old friend was rather tall, measuring at an impressive seven-feet. The old monkey possessed a rather leaner build than most people would imagine, dressed in what appeared to be an old-fashioned but ornate set of robes, curiously dry despite the fact that the monkey had been meditating under the waterfall for god knows how long. Thunderer inspected his old friend for a few moments before he spoke again.

"For a monkey of your age, you look well," joked Thunderer. The monkey 'tched' as he glared at the glowing being.

"I hold the same rank as you, _Thunder God,_ " he replied irritatedly. Thunderer looked somewhat surprised.

"Since when did the Heavens allow you into its ranks?" Thunderer questioned. The monkey smiled.

"It would be foolish for them to not include the _Victorious Fighting Buddha_ into their ranks, wouldn't you think?" Thunderer looked surprised but still bit back with a comment.

"Then you got yourself demoted then! From the _Great Sage Equalling the Heavens_ , you just became a member of the Heavens! Good job, Sun Wukong!" Wukong looked irritably at the orange colored electromagus, who was laughing out loud.

"After all these years, I most certainly could fight you to a standstill, weapon-less or otherwise," Wukong replied flatly. Thunderer stopped laughing but looked challengingly at his old friend. In an instant, the previously jovial air around them had vanished. Replacing it was an aura of tenseness, and the air around them began to crackle as sparks of electricity ran around the sides of the walls. An immense pressure of heat also began to settle in as the two godlike beings stared at one another.

A beat.

"On the second thought, demolishing the cave would not be a good idea," Thunderer said, powering down as quickly as he had powered up. Wukong shrugged and removed the heat.

"The cave would last. Not so sure about the wizard or muggle towns nearby though. The earthquakes would cause some serious casualties." Thunderer nodded in agreement as Wukong continued. "By the way, would you mind turning back to your base state. Your form is too bright."

Thunderer raised a non-existent eyebrow.

"You, the one who stared into Lao Tzu's cauldron for forty-nine days are complaining about light?" Wukong looked irritable and so Thunderer sighed and extinguished the light from his body, plunging the cave back into relative dimness.

"Now that we've got that out of the way, what brings you to this side of the continent. The Fates sent you I assume?" Wukong asked. Thunderer nodded.

"Close enough. I also had to return a few items to you," he replied, tossing him a small sack to the monkey king. Wukong didn't even bother to catch it, telepathically directing his staff to retrieve the pouch for him instead.

"And?" Wukong asked, "What did the Fates want from us?"

Thunderer frowned.

"I was instructed to inspect the Nexuses. Of course, I looked at the ones at home and at _Vigrid_ , no particular problems when I last checked." Wukong grumbled but quickly turned around and pointed to the waterfall.

"Follow me."

The two old beings walked up towards the waterfall and right through it, ignoring the thousands of pounds of force that were rushing at them from the water. They appeared on the other side without much incidence and continued to walk across the narrow passage. Before long they reached the end of the corridor which had a large symbol engraved onto the wall. Wukong took a few steps more while Thunderer stayed in his position and watched as the monkey king appeared to jump across the ground in front of the symbol three times. A moment later, a doorway appeared.

"After you," Wukong said as he watched the doorway's opening. The monkey panted slightly at his exertion which Thunderer took by stride. After all, the old monkey had jumped the equivalent of one-hundred-and-sixty-two-thousand kilometres, hardly an easy feat of a monkey his age.

The pair entered into the room and looked around. Unlike the stone-grey outside, the room seemed to resemble the interior of a very cluttered storeroom. Stacks upon stacks of items were strewn all over the place, atop books, shelves, ancient chairs or anything that the mind could possibly think of.

"Seems normal, don't you think?" Wukong said with a sniff. "Smells funny though, quite a few more items here than when I last came in." Thunderer nodded and filed that last thought for later. The old monkey was right, at least to the extent Thunderer could tell. With a tilt of his head, he turned around.

"Well I best get going then. A lot of ground to cover. I hope we can meet soon" Thunderer replied briskly. Wukong waved his hand.

"You'll be back soon enough. Just don't ask me for any more troublesome favors," Wukong replied. "I trust you know the way back?"

Thunderer nodded. "And you?" he asked. Wukong shrugged.

"Might as well look around the place since I'm already down here. After all, I did have to jump quite a bit to get here," Wukong replied glibly. Thunderer smiled.

"Until later." With those parting words, Thunderer sped out of the waterfall before teleporting himself out of the cave.

* * *

 _Spells Used/Mentioned:_

 _Intactilus – Intangibility Charm_

 _Telgja – Old Norse Splitting Spell_

 ** _Next Time: The Week After_**


	2. Chapter 2 - The Week After

" _Text"_ – Thoughts

" **Text"** – Spellcast

" _Text"_ – Non-English Words

 _Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 2 – The Week After**_

 _Date: Sunday, July 15_ _th_ _1995_

 _Location: St. Mungo's Hospital_

The symbol of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries is the shape of a wand and bone crossed. It is said that the symbol represented the greatest feat attributed to the hospital's founder Mungo Bonham, who had been the first ever wizard to successfully perform **Brackium Emendo,** otherwise known as the Bone-Mending charm at the tender age of fourteen. This had been a ground-breaking feat for medical magic, a spell that had spawned many different variations (and some more sinister counterparts) which had evolved into many of the different healing spells we have today.

Arguably however, while Mungo's discovery of the Bone-Mending Charm had been legendary in its own right, the exalted healer's founding of the world-famous hospital could be said to have been a much greater feat, even if it had originally started as an alchemist's workshop almost four-hundred years ago.

Today, St. Mungo's is situated between a set of ley lines in London, allowing for the entire hospital to seemingly exist within the short and condemned building aptly named Purge and Dowse Ltd. Being in these ley lines also had the additional effect of boosting the overall ability for people to heal, hence why the hospital had to be situated here rather in the far more well concealed Diagon Alley.

The Hospital itself contains five floors above ground and an unknown number of underground floors that are used for – ahem – classified reasons. Each of the aboveground floors specialize in treating a specific type of injury, be it an injury as a result of magical creatures, bug and diseases or other natural magics, all of which are treated in the first, second and third floors respectively. The fourth floor almost seems disproportionally large when compared to the lower four floors, to the extent where it would not be physically possible for it to exist if one were to go by muggle physics. This was the floor which treated victims of spell damage.

There were many notorious wards on this floor, including the Janus Thickley Ward which cared for individuals who suffered from long-term mental damage, the Septimus Malfoy Ward, a ward which cared specifically for those who had been inflicted with curses so vile that the healers who worked there had to be subjected to a psychological evaluation every so often to make sure they kept their sanity from treating the patients in the ward.

However, the ward we are most interested in is a very private ward, the virtually unknown Lyra Potter Ward, named after one of the greatest British Healers that had never been officially acknowledged by the Ministry of Magic, or the Order of Merlin for that matter. In many ways, it was a very apt naming for the ward, for only the fewer people who knew about it, the better.

At this time, the ward proper only had one patient, for the other had been released only a few hours prior. Her friend however was still unmoving, seeming almost as though she were in between life and death itself. As ominous as that sounds, it spoke nothing of the state that the healers had found her in.

It had been a warm summer night when the Healers Samson Spencer and Maxwell "Max" Entwhistle had been loudly startled when an alarm had gone off in the muggle neighbourhood of Little Whinging. Hastily recalling procedures they never thought they'd ever use, they were startled as they apparated on scene, confronted with a view so disconcerting that… let's just say that they were forced to sign oaths of silence from the girl's family, Albus Dumbledore and even one from the Department of Mysteries themselves.

Despite the large amount of excitement, the rest of the week passed rather uneventfully as the comatose girl lay on the bed in the same position as they had found her. It had been surprising for the pair of healers, only recently having come back to Britain from their studies in different parts of the globe, to have work that would require their specialized skills. It had also been quite a pride-hurting moment to find that they could barely do anything for the girl, who still lay as though she had been dipped in the Veil itself. Nonetheless, the arduous pair continued to diligently watch over their patient, hoping that they would be able to employ the skills they had learnt soon.

It was on this rather blustery morning when such a chance seemed to come up. Max had been dutifully readying the potions that were to be administered to their patient when he heard a noise coming from her. Almost dropping the vial, Max rushed over to the girl's bedside. The patient was a fifteen-year old girl with light blonde hair that was strewn across the pillow where her head lay. Her naturally cool expression stared back at him, though she remained unmoving.

Max shook his head, believing that the noise had just been his imagination. He resisted the temptation to look back at the beautiful girl, doing his best to keep his professionalism intact as he went back to the potions he had been working on. It didn't matter if he were a prodigal eighteen-year-old who had been taught by the legendary Aleister Crowley, he would be immediately dispatched if another member of staff saw him doing so and far, far worse if it were the girl's parents. Max had met many dangerous men in his travels but few could match the deadly combination of cold logic and unbridled rage that Lord Cyril A. Greengrass possessed.

Another noise.

This time, Max was certain that he had not mistaken the sound and rushed over once more. Daphne Q. Greengrass was still completely motionless to the naked eye. Max frowned as he pulled out his wand.

" **Homenum Habitus Revelio."**

A wave of purple rushed over the girl's body. A small amount of pitch black mist floated up from her body. Max frowned gently. There was much less mist compared to the last time he or Samson had scanned her, a sign that her condition was improving. However, they, nor the rest of the department could identify what spell remnant that was. Even Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape, the latter who had come alongside the former, had any idea what that spell was. Whatever it was though, it certainly was dangerous.

When asked, Lord Greengrass had denied having any knowledge of what the spell was. Given his response, however, both Max and Samson had reason to believe that the former duellist knew more than he was willing to say. How on earth he managed to circumvent the Oath of Truth, on the other hand was not something that neither men could figure out.

"mm…"

Maxwell was so surprised that he almost jumped back, an action that would have sent him into the wall behind him. Luckily, he stopped himself and looked back at Daphne.

"…arry"

Max blinked for a moment before he almost jumped up in surprise. In that moment he quickly realized two things.

Daphne Greengrass was somewhat awake

She was muttering Harry Potter's name

Max still clearly remembered what he had seen that faithful night. He shook himself to rid himself of the unwanted memories as he focused onto one thing. Harry Potter. The boy had been found a few feet away from the unconscious Greengrass heiress and her friend, Tracey Davis, the latter whom had apparently been the one to alert the Hospital. Moments after they arrived, Albus Dumbledore and several other people had arrived and taken the Boy-who-lived's body. It had been an extremely strange breach of protocol but both Max and Samson knew better than to question Albus Dumbledore.

"HARRY!"

This time, Max did jump as Daphne unexpectedly sat up straight. Her eyes opened wide, revealing a pair of milk-chocolate colored orbs.

"Harry!" she spoke again, far softer this time.

Max was in disbelief. He had close to no idea what had just happened but knew he had to take some sort of action. He wordlessly burned the 'Geminus sheet' that he and Samson carried in case of a situation like this.

"You're safe, Ms Greengrass," Max said, trying to console the frantic girl. Daphne turned to look at him, her eyes broiling in fear, anger and many other emotions. If he looked closer, he would have been able to see a strange phenomenon in her eyes.

"Harry! Where is he? Did the dement–"

Daphne began to babble incoherently. Maxwell stood there awkwardly, wondering what course of action he could take to alleviate the situation. Clearly, talking to her wouldn't work and casting any sort of non-sensory spell was completely against protocol unless he could identify whatever spell had been affecting her. Which brought him to his next question – how did she awaken after over a week of being in a coma?

The door quickly swung open Samson strode in urgently.

"What's the sit –" Samson began as his eyes turned to the patient. His eyes opened slightly wider, indicating his surprise, his mouth remaining open for a few more moments before it closed.

"I see."

Max was still highly surprised at the situation but failed at keeping himself fully composed. Samson walked forward towards the babbling Daphne and spoke.

"Ms Greengrass," he said with the slightest bit of force. Daphne stopped babbling and stared right at Samson. The healer froze for a moment, almost feeling paralyzed by the intensely cold glare that she effortlessly outputted.

"Thank you, Healer Spencer, Healer Entwhistle," came a voice from outside the room. Both healers almost jumped in surprise as Cyril Greengrass strode into the room. In an instant, the whole room felt a few degrees colder as Cyril exuded his usual aura. Maxwell heard himself gulp before he even realized himself shivering.

"Lord Greengrass," Samson said, bowing to the head of the Noble and Ancient House of Greengrass. Said man nodded stiffly as he looked directly at the two healers. Under the mercy of the full power of Lord Greengrass's stare, the two could hardly help but wilt slightly under the immense pressure that he radiated.

"I am aware that this is not part of protocol," he said, doubling the pressure he outputted, "but would it be possible for me to have a few words with my daughter before you examine her?"

Max blinked twice. He was about to answer when Samson spoke first.

"Of course, your lordship. Take as much time as you need. Come now, Maxwell." With this, Samson quickly walked out of the room, Max tailing him as quickly as he could to get out of the room with the scary father-daughter duo. A few moments later, Cyril drew his wand and pointed it wordlessly at the door. A pale flash emitted from his wand tip, hitting the door and causing a small rainbow of colors to appear. Cyril stared at it for a moment, faintly smiling before looking back at Daphne.

"Are you alright, Daphne?" he asked. In a single moment, Cyril's entire demeanour changed from that of the cool and logical Lord Greengrass to that of the concerned father, Cyril. Daphne wordlessly took note of this and huffed, clearly displeased.

"I am fine father but I do have a few questions." Her father looked at her for a moment before smiling, which cause Daphne to frown correspondingly.

"Where am I?" she all but demanded. Daphne had visited St. Mungo's a few times over the years, usually to visit members of her extended family who had been admitted, as part of her duties as the heiress apparent. By now, she had quite a good understanding to how each floor of the hospital was laid out. However, she could still not yet figure out where she was at the moment, a fact that irked her slightly.

"We are in the Lyra Potter Ward of St. Mungo's," her father replied swiftly. Daphne frowned further.

"I was not aware that such a ward existed," she said evenly. Given the rather 'colourful' means that her family members had used to get admitted into the hospital, Daphne had also seen many of the various wards of the hospital. She frowned, trying to recall whom Lyra Potter was but failed. Sucking up her pride, she turned to her father.

"I seem not to be able to recall whom this Lyra Potter was," she continued. Her father didn't seem surprised.

"You shouldn't. Lyra Potter is a witch whose name has been virtually written out of history books and casted out of almost all family trees. If I recall correctly, the name is only mentioned here and in the official Potter family tapestry," he replied. Daphne looked surprised.

Being disowned was not something uncommon in the magical world, given the rather extremist beliefs and traditions that some people had. However, being almost written out of history itself was extremely uncommon, as it showed that a person had enough notoriety yet not enough clout to keep themselves from being completely erased.

"What did she do?" Daphne asked, not expecting an answer. After all, if a person was virtually removed from history, it would be highly unlikely that her father knew any more than another person.

"I do not know any details. All I can tell you is what this ward specializes in." Daphne sat up a bit straighter and looked directly at her father as he continued. "The treatment of those who have encountered, yet defied, death itself."

Daphne blinked for a moment before her eyes widened enormously.

"That's… impossible," she stated flatly. It was, after all, one of the cardinal rules of magic. The dead cannot fully return. Necromancy, such as the creation of inferi was just about as close as you could get to as performing resurrection, Daphne quickly recalled. Her father nodded.

"That much is true," he said reverently. "However, Daphne, you have not died." The obviousness of the words made Daphne really want to snark back at her father but she stayed her tongue.

"Explain," she said as neutrally as possible. Her father sighed and took a seat at a chair that he wordlessly conjured up behind him.

"What do you remember?" he asked genially. Daphne looked at him blankly.

"Judging by your experience, I will assume that you have some information on what had happened. In brief, during my visit with Tracey to find Potter, we ran afoul of a pair of dementors who were inexplicably attacking Potter. From what I gather, I'd assume that I was –"

Daphne stopped suddenly. A strange expression took over her face, the mixture of embarrassment and fright. It was clear to Lord Greengrass that she wouldn't speak further without his prompting.

"How long ago would you estimate that to be?" he asked. Daphne took a moment to think.

"A few days. Certainly more than a few hours, given that I have been transported to this ward rather than still being in intensive care." Her father smiled, seemingly somewhat pleased at his daughter's deductive skills.

"You are right. It has been just under one week since you were admitted into the hospital. However, your assessment was slightly incorrect as you never entered the ICU." Daphne looked surprised for a moment.

"That is… peculiar…"

Daphne blinked a few times before squinting at the space in front of her. She looked around the ward, hoping to buy some times as she processed the information she had been given. The room's walls were as bare as any other hospital ward's with minimal decoration. On the far wall from her bed, Daphne spotted what seemed to be some intricate tapestry. It was woven elegantly, a mix of red and green snaked around each other, before transposing into gold and blue. Daphne found herself strangely drawn to it, feeling the wish to move closer to see it.

"Beautiful, isn't?" her father said suddenly. As if breaking out of a trance, Daphne snapped back and looked owlishly at her father. Her eyes widened a fraction and she immediately tried to magically search her mind for magical interference, however her efforts were prematurely stopped by a harrowing echo of pain that coursed through her body. With a large wince, Daphne felt herself lying back on the bed. Her father looked somewhat concerned, a slightly strange expression on his usually stoic face.

"Are you alright?" he asked. Daphne nodded affirmatively. Her father then looked closer towards her, an action that made Daphne almost want to recoil. In her exhausted state, she would be powerless to stop her father's legilimentic attack … which did not ever arrive. Instead, her father withdrew, a frown marring his face.

"Your eyes…" he murmured. Daphne looked strangely at her father but he did not elaborate. Somewhat annoyed at the whole situation, she spoke up again.

"Pardon me, father, but I do have one more question." Her father gestured for her to continue. "First of all, how in Morgana's name did I get here? My memories of what occurred during last week are hazy at best but…" A faraway look made its way onto her face. With a sudden yelp, Daphne sat up abruptly before sliding down again due to another pang of pain.

"Oof!" she grunted, a look of pain marring her face. However, the expression was quickly replaced with one of desperate fear.

"HARRY!"

Cyril watched with a mixture of concern and surprise as his daughter yelled out the name of her 'boyfriend', clearly in a worried manner. From his experience, it was highly unlike Daphne to have questions about anyone but herself first. It wasn't that she was uncaring of others, rather simply her drive to improve herself usually eclipsed whatever form of empathy she had. Although, in all fairness, the special circumstance may have warranted this strange behaviour.

His daughter had finally calmed somewhat, though given the amount she was shaking, she either had need of some medical attention or was still highly agitated. Fortunately, since neither of their rings had any signal, Cyril was able to assume the latter.

"Apologies for my rather embarrassing outburst, father," Daphne said, blushing slightly. It was almost nostalgic for Cyril to watch his eldest get embarrassed like this. For this reason, he found it rather hard to keep the smile off his face.

"Apology accepted, continue, please," he replied. Daphne coughed.

"I would like to know where Potter is. Given that I ended up in such a state defending him, I would be somewhat irritated if he was not around to thank me for it." Cyril detected a hint of hesitance in her haughty tone. It was almost as though she already unconsciously knew that he had no good news for her. And thus, true to his usual method of delivering news, Lord Greengrass spoke with unwavering directness.

"Unfortunately, Harry Potter's physical whereabouts are unknown. As for his spirit, it has been deemed that it has been absorbed by the dementor that the two of you fought."

Cyril almost winced at how his daughter's expression seemed to melt right off her face. It quickly morphed from her usual haughty expression, to shock, to confusion.

"What! How? I was there! That's impossible I used…" Cyril looked surprised. Did she actually know what spell she had cast? A quick look at his daughter said otherwise. No. It was impossible anyways. Cyril himself didn't even know how… He turned his attention back to his daughter, whose surprise seemed to be fading rapidly. The expression on her face screamed denial. Cyril frowned.

He knew that helping his daughter through this was beyond his capabilities, even more so given his 'conditioning' to the role of Lord Greengrass. It pricked at him to have to let another person take care of his daughter in her time of need, but Cyril knew what needed to be done.

"Daphne," he said, with his usual level of coldness. His daughter quickly looked to him, her eyes clearly watering in desperation. Cyril took a moment to breath before he continued.

"Unfortunately, I have another meeting to attend to right now. Your mother and sister will visit shortly but I must leave. In the meantime, I am certain that Healers Spencer and Entwhistle will be more than capable of helping you."

Daphne looked confused for a moment before her eyes widened a fraction in realization. Her icy expression returned.

"I see," she said, the iciness of her voice almost rivalling that of her mother's when she was absolutely livid. Cyril did not physically react.

"I will see you later. Get some rest, Daphne. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, father."

Cyril took one last look at his daughter, who seemed to be deep in thought. Hopefully, Eve would be able to help her through this, especially since Cyril had absolutely no idea what to do. A small pain erupted in his heart as he walked out of the ward, towards the roaring fireplace that sat a few meters down the corridor.

Now, he had to get to work.

He hadn't been lying when he told Daphne that he had another meeting. Strictly speaking, he was already late to the meeting that he had to attend. Of course, seeing his hospital-ridden daughter took precedence over meeting with Saul Croaker. Surely an old friend could overlook something like this right?

"Ministry of Magic Level 9: Department of Mysteries, Analysis Room 585-789! Passcode: Niflheim!"

A flash of green flame engulfed Cyril as he stepped through the doorway, vanishing from the hospital.

* * *

 _Date: Monday, July 16_ _th_ _1995_

 _Location: The Burrow_

It had been a warm summer in Ottery St. Catchpole since Ron, Ginny and the twins had returned from Hogwarts. Not much had been happening, just the same usual business that would happen at this time of year, including the indiscriminate bangs and strange smells from the twins' room, the alternatingly haunting and beautiful tones of Celestina Warbeck that echoed throughout the small house as well as the hushed conversations held between Arthur and Bill Weasley.

Bill hadn't returned to Egypt after visiting Hogwarts earlier this year, opting instead to stay in Britain for personal reasons. Naturally, his parents welcomed him with open arms, eager to have their eldest with them for as long as possible. And so he sat with his father at the dinner table, discussing a new-fangled piece of muggle technology called a 'cell phone'.

Meanwhile, Ginny was sitting in the middle of the table, showing complete disinterest at what her brother and father were discussing. Instead, she was staring at the wall, contemplating Morgana knew what. Or at least, that's how Ron interpreted his sister's actions.

His mother was in the kitchen, a usual occurrence at this time of day, cooking their breakfast. Molly Weasley was one of the very few witches (or wizards) who spent large amounts of time cooking. This was not, as many believed, because she couldn't _afford_ magical cooking (between her husband and three eldests' income, this particular branch of the Weasleys were relatively wealthy) but rather because she knew that food would taste better with a human hand in it. Those who knew this little fact considered it to be the 'secret' to Molly's delicious cooking.

Ron licked his lips in anticipation of his delicious meal as his thoughts drifted from his family to his friends. He honestly didn't know how this summer was going to pan out, given that so much had changed since last year. His friendship with Hermione seemed to have faded somewhat, something he regretted more than what he would admit to anyone. On the other hand, he had somehow become friends with not one but two Slytherins … that much was surprising.

His parents' and brothers' expressions when he formally revealed to them his friendship with Tracey (and acquaintanceship with Daphne) was mildly surprising, almost as though they had expected something similar. Nevertheless, his mother had warned him about interacting with the Greengrasses, a sediment that seemed to run on through the rest of the family (apart from the twins, who seemed much more interested in his relationship with Tracey). Ron seemed surprised at how the usually laid-back Bill was so firm in his thoughts which prompted some further look into it.

In the background, Celestina Warbeck's performance was about to hit its apex, with the banshees and she chorusing melodiously, or as far as banshees and humans could do in tandem. Ron covered his ears at the impending loud bang at this part of the song. This was (strangely) his mother's favourite part, at which she would stop what she was doing and chant the next part of the chorus alongside the radio. Ron was somewhat embarrassed by it and thus covered his ears more intently to hopefully drown out the cacophony that was about to engulf the house.

Ron counted in his head, readying himself for his mother's chanting. Luckily for him, Ron had 'developed' a method of covering his ears as to prevent as much noise from entering his ears as possible. While not completely infallible (as his memory of a certain event back in his second-year indicated), it was very effective in general.

Unable to resist the urge to take a peek at his mother's singing, Ron looked up, hoping that the scene was not too ghastly. However, instead of joyously belting out the lyrics to _A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love_ , his mother seemed extremely surprised as she looked to the radio. Ron looked to his father and brother, who usually would be doing something similar to what he had been. Instead, they were looking intently at the radio, almost as though they were hunters tracking a wounded animal. Even Ginny seemed to have perked up and was watching the radio. Curious, Ron uncovered his ears and began to listen.

"…–bridge was not found. However, it was by the word of a witch named Arabella Figg, who saw the entire event. To quote Ms Figg, "it was absolutely horrific. The dark shades were…" Unfortunately, that was the end of the quote as Ms Figg declined to make any further comments."

Ron was confused but continued to listen. Clearly he was missing something important.

"Though the news seems quite sudden, many people have already responded to it. I have already received a request from both the St. Mungo's and the Ministry of Magic's respective Owl Posts to ask that you refrain from sending more messages about the event."

Ron's surprise grew as he felt a lump form in his throat. Something really bad had happened, he could feel it in his gut. He strained his ears to listen more clearly.

"And so… ah here we go. The Ministry has now given their official state– … oh my…"

The ominous pause seemed to drag on for an eternity as Ron's feeling of foreboding grew evermore. Jackson Rickards, the radio host was known for his virtually unflappable nature, having grown accustomed to covering the grisliest of stories from the war a decade and a half prior. What on earth could have such an effect on him?

"… excuse me ladies and gentlemen but I must take a moment to compose myself" came Rickards' warbling voice from the radio. Ron felt his senses overload as his foreboding ascended to new heights.

"… ahem. Pardon me everyone," Rickards said, his tone still audibly wobbly. The man coughed once before he continued. His voice returned far cooler and more detached than it had been before. "The Ministry of Magic's official statement on the Little Whinging attack amounts to as follows, 'The attack was not perpetrated by any existing member of the ministry of magic, nor any national or international body. The attack amounted to only one casualty…" Rickards gave an audible gulp. Ron unconsciously braced himself, not knowing what was going to be said. He thought he would be ready for anything.

"Harry James Potter perished in combat against the pair of dementors. While his body has yet to be found, Miss Arabella Figg's provided memory has given irrefutable evidence that…"

To anyone still listening, it was obvious that Rickard's was stricken by the news, though he continued bravely as he delivered the shocking news. However, no-one in the Burrow could hear his voice.

A thud. Two thuds. No-one noticed.

For Ron, that moment seemed to last an eternity. The moment that he heard Harry's named uttered by the radio host seemed to last forever to Ron. Somehow, his vision seemed to contort wildly. Time froze that instant as Ron did his best to process the information.

Harry was dead.

No, wait that was impossible! Harry was the boy-who-lived! The one who beat You-Know-Who as a baby! He was virtually invincible! Ron's brain went into overdrive, trying to come up with some explanation for what had happened. He didn't care how naïve his ideas were, he just needed some way to…

And just like that, time unfroze. Ron felt all the energy leaving his body as he almost collapsed onto the table. He looked up and saw the origins of the two earlier thuds, his mother and sister, the former of whom appeared to have fainted. Mrs. Weasley was on the ground, an expression of clear surprise on her face. On the other hand, Ginny hadn't outright fainted but instead had a distant look on her face. It was almost as though her soul had exited her body, given how pale and despondent she looked.

"Th… they're just pulling our legs right?'

Ron slowly looked to the door. His older twin brothers were standing there, both with almost identically shocked expressions on their faces. Not a hint of their usual mischievousness or devilishness remained. It appeared that they had rushed down when they heard the urgent broadcast.

"No."

The voice was his father's. The finality in the tone drove home the message that all of them were trying vehemently to deny.

Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, was dead.

A very soft wail came from Ginny but no-one really noticed. The air around them all had stagnated and they could all feel it. It was almost as though the air had turned solid, or perhaps it was simply that they collectively thought that if no-one made a move, the situation would simply stop, that time would stop in that moment.

To delay the terrible conclusion that all of them had already realized.

The eerie silence was broken by the fireplace of their house bursting into emerald green flames.

"Arthur, it's Arnica. We need you here in the office right now," came the urgent message. A moment later, the green flames subsided and returned to their usual red-orange color. However, the still air had already been broken.

Moving at an incredibly lethargic manner, Arthur Weasley stood up shakily. He looked as though he had aged several decades since he had sat down and his harrowed look only served to contribute to that image. He turned unsteadily to his family.

"Well…" he muttered, "I seem to need to go…" It was clear that his mind was elsewhere but Arthur gently shook his head. Putting on a façade of confidence, he turned to his eldest son.

"Bill, help your mother up. Afterwards, call Charlie and Percy and tell them to come back at their earliest convenience for an emergency family meeting." Bill nodded solemnly.

"Understood, father," the tallest redhead said, with a tone far more severe than he had ever used before. It was clear that Bill was absolutely livid but kept his emotions in check in front of his siblings. Arthur barely reacted.

"Well then, I'm off," he said. Arthur drew his wand and whispered something to it. A moment later, a bag whizzed into his grasp. Using his other hand, Arthur grabbed a sizeable amount of Floo powder from the jar on the mantelpiece.

"Ministry of Magic Level Two: Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office." With a roar of green flame, Arthur Weasley left the burrow.

A few moments of silence passed before Bill too stood up.

"Well, I better get to doing what dad told me to do," he said shortly. It was clear to Ron that Bill didn't want to talk as he trundled out of the room, passing the frozen twins as he headed for his room.

The stagnant air returned as no-one moved once more. Ron's mind was in overdrive, not knowing what he could do. He knew that he wasn't the only one close to Harry. Tracey, Hermione, Greengrass… how were they doing? Something felt as though it dropped inside Ron's thoughts moved to the one person who cared more about Harry's safety than he.

"Sirius…" he murmured.

* * *

 _Location: 12 Grimmauld Place_

A deafening silence could be felt all around the grim, old mansion that had housed the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black ever since the aftermath of the Third Giant Uprising. Over the many centuries, the once regal and grand manse had been reduced to a mostly well-worn and drab house. Cluttered pieces of old furniture, decorations and other odd things lay scattered around the shadowy house. The house was, very fittingly, a grim old shadow of its former glory.

Only a few rooms in the house actually seemed somewhat hospitable, a number that had slowly increased over the past week as the last Black had returned to his childhood home. It had been a long uphill battle for the frail man, who not only had to attend to the house but also to his own health, his pet hippogriff as well as fight an inane battle against the resident 'house' elf. Thankfully, his (living) best friend was there to offer him moral support (in the form of jibes at the former top auror for being outsmarted by an ancient house-elf).

The pair had decided to take a break after an almost 20-hour shift which had seen them fully clean up enough of two bedrooms for the both of them to sleep in. About time too, since the mattress they had been able to transfigure was getting a little too lumpy.

This had been the scene a few minutes ago, the two men relaxing on somewhat gaudy armchairs that they had checked multiple times for various curses, jinxes, hexes and other maleficent magics. They had been sharing a good bottle of firewhisky, one procured from a certain Dumbledore in Hogs Head, recounting old stories of their days in Hogwarts that had been said countless times. Back in a simpler, more peaceful time.

Back before James had died, and before Peter had betrayed them.

Sirius had gotten up to the old radio that he had 'obtained' during his travels. His long matted hair that had stayed with him for over a decade had been trimmed finally, after weeks upon weeks of Remus's urging. While his clothing was not anywhere close to what his standing in the Wizarding world would indicate, it was a far cry from the rags he had been wearing for most of the past fifteen years.

Across from him, Remus looked somewhat older than his true age would expect. The full moon had only passed a few days ago and the harrowing transformation had taken a toll on the werewolf's body. Nonetheless, he looked much better than he had a few nights ago and his attitude reflected it. He was extremely thankful that 12 Grimmauld Place had such a large supply of potions goods, allowing for Sirius and him to brew up Wolfsbane Potion for him in preparation for the dreaded full moon.

Sirius had casually flicked on the radio, hoping to get some news on the Wizarding World. With a groan, he quickly tried to change the channel from Celestina Warbeck's 'awful' voice to something more soothing when the announcement came up.

And that brings us to now.

A wave of smoke rose from the remains of the worn radio. It looked as though it had been forcibly blown up from the inside. Judging by the lack of whimsical vapours or energies emerging from the ashes, one could assume that the magic powered radio had its power source used as a makeshift bomb, detonated with the power equivalent to a standard hand grenade. Another's magic took effect, sending the remaining smoke and dust away and out of the room.

Remus lowered his wand. Inside, he was barely able to accept what he had heard, though it would have explained why Harry hadn't replied to his and Sirius's latest message almost a week ago. It also served as an explanation as to why Dumbledore had not visited in the past week, despite having promised to do so… Remus shook his head, trying to keep himself from falling into despair. Warily, he looked at Sirius.

The dog animagus still had his wand raised, having not withdrawn it since he had unexpectedly destroyed their only reliable source of information on the outside world. It was difficult, even for Remus, to identify what spell Sirius had used but he could at the least tell how dark the spell probably was. It wasn't hard to guess how Sirius felt at that moment, even without looking at his face.

"Sirius…" Remus croaked out. He was slightly surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded before he felt the weight of the situation hit him. Remus felt his composure rapidly fall, so much so that he didn't notice Sirius getting up.

"That's the last straw."

Remus took a few deep breaths and looked upwards to look at his friend. Sirius's face was mostly obscured by his hair, though glimpses of enraged sorrow could be seen from his stance. Blood was coming from his clenched fists which he held shaking. The wand he held in hand almost broke under the pressure that he held it in.

Suddenly, Sirius jerked his head, allowing his face to be revealed. It was grief unlike any that Remus had ever seen before, not even when Sirius found out his Uncle Alphard had died, or when he received news on Regulus's demise. Sirius's eyes were bloodshot, his eyes dancing wildly in a chaotic frenzy. Sirius was heaving heavily, as though he had completed an intense physical endeavour as he began to move. His eyes met Remus's for a moment, and the werewolf was able to see what the wild insanity of Sirius's eyes hid – the cold despondence that had been brought by his stay in Azkaban.

Sirius walked a few steps towards the desk that he and Remus had cleared. On it lay a few items they had been able to salvage from the Office of Lord Black, a room that had been vacated since the death of Sirius's uncle Cygnus in 1992. One of those was a small black stain box which Sirius had been extremely intent on finding. Remus knew before he had been told exactly what was inside – the Ring of Lord Black. Upon finding the priceless heirloom, Sirius joked that he would be one of the most revered men in Wizarding Britain once his claimed his title, a big step up from his current 'position' of 'greatest traitor in modern wizardry'. Remus had laughed, adding that he would even outrank Harry after the latter's ascension. Now, that memory was almost harrowing to recall.

Sirius opened the box hesitantly and stared at its contents. The ring lay unmoving, though it seemed to shine brilliantly as Remus and Sirius looked at it. It was extremely finely crafted, with orichalcum forming the ring itself while it was adorned by a single pure-black onyx with the coat of arms of House Black engraved on it. Of course, the ring was imbued with powerful magicks but the simplicity of the design simply added to the elegance and class that the ring proclaimed.

Both men stared at the heirloom. One solemnly, one regretfully.

"Sirius, you know you can't…" Remus began even though he knew his words were futile. Sirius was not known for following anyone's rules but his own. The shaggy haired man clearly had lots of pain in his eyes.

The moment passed.

With a single fluid motion, Sirius, took the ring out of its box and slipped it onto his finger. A wave of magic coursed through his body, causing him to wince in pain. Remus had just about figured out what Sirius was trying to do and rushed over to aid his friend.

Sirius however, simply waved away Remus and stood up. His eyes were no longer filled with the chaos that had been swimming in them for the past few minutes. Now, only resolute rage remained.

"I," Sirius began, choking back the tears that were still in his eyes. "Sirius Orion III, hereby proclaim myself as the claimant apparent for the position of Lord Black under the old ways. May magic judge me as it sees fit. Forsooth I swear so mote it be."

The ring glowed for a few moments as both men held their breaths. There was a reason why Sirius had not attempted to do so earlier, one being because of the laws governing the lordship of Noble Houses (and the other being because of Dumbledore's request). They both had heard many gruesome tales of 'failed' attempts to claim lordship, where the magic of the Lord's ring would exact punishment on the unworthy person who attempted to wear it. For a House that dated back to the time of the founders of Hogwarts, the ring's magic probably contained spells not heard of since the ISS's establishment.

The glowing stopped and the men sighed in relief. It seemed that Sirius would live to see another day, despite the risky gambit that he had just taken. Though Sirius was _not_ truly Lord Black yet, having the ring accept him granted him enough privileges at the moment. If the situation were less severe, Remus would have smiled. Now, all he could do was watch as Sirius raised his hand now once more.

"For my first order as Lord Black, I hereby terminate all contracts of free passage into this building. Only Remus John Lupin and myself are able to come ago go."

A flash of light and a whole page of parchment on the office's wall vanished, replaced only with one name. Remus gulped. Sirius was doing more than he expected.

"Are you sure, Sirius? Going against Dumble–" Remus was silenced as Sirius shot him a look, quaking with rage.

"He. Let. Harry. Die." Sirius enunciated every syllable. Remus could see the despair in his friend's eyes now, burning as radiantly as his rage was. Remus knew that he himself was barely keeping the tears at bay as he watched his closest living friend sink onto the floor in tears. Remus felt himself barely able to stand and collapsed as well. His mind was a mess as well, not knowing what to think.

All he could do was hope that what they did was right.

* * *

 _Location: Longbottom Manor_

While the torrent of exchange was flooding virtually every wizarding family even remotely connected to Britain had been ongoing, a certain young Gryffindor had been sound asleep. Neville Longbottom, son of celebrated aurors Frank and Alice was having a restful sleep, as he usually would on mornings like this. As such, he was blissfully unaware about the goings-on around him.

An owl landed on his windowsill, which he had forgetfully left open last night. The bird crept up on the unsuspecting boy. Without any warning, it delivered a sharp peck to Neville's right arm.

"Gahh!" he screamed, waking up instantly from the piercing pain. It would be some time before Neville would grow to have much better instincts, but that would be a story for a later time. Instead, he looked around confusedly, wondering what had attacked him.

The owl hooted at him, causing Neville to almost jump back in shock. Unamused by the human's antics, the owl pointed its beak at the pouch that it carried. Though somewhat groggy, Neville instantly recognized the symbol emblazoned on the pouch, Hogwarts's distinct symbol. Timidly, Neville reached towards the pouch and pulled out the letter gingerly. The owl hooted once more and took off, flying back to wherever it had flown from.

Neville sat surprisedly as he looked at the letter in front of him. This was clearly something important, judging by the sender. Curious, Neville quickly tore open the letter and began to read.

 _Dear Neville,_

 _This is Professor Dumbledore…_

 _Spells Used_

 _Brackium Emendo – Bone-Mending Charm_

 _Homenum Habitus Revelio – Human-Condition Revealing Charm_

* * *

 _ **Next Time: Anger Point**_


	3. Chapter 3 - Anger Point

" _Text"_ – Thoughts

" **Text"** – Spellcast

" _Text"_ – Non-English Words

 _Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 3 – Anger Point**_

 _Date: Friday, July 21_ _st_ _1995_

 _Location: Headmaster's Office_

A thunderous crack accompanied the roar of green flames that jettisoned harmlessly from the large fireplace as Albus Dumbledore appeared in his office once more. His face was that of uncharacteristically extreme irritation, apparent through his movement and the dangerous amount of magic he was leaking. Frustration upon frustration had brought the usually calm and gentle-seeming supercentenarian to an angered state.

It had only been a week since the Ministry had announced that Harry Potter had been killed by the dementors, courtesy of a certain Arabella Figg, who Albus was beginning to grievously regret putting in charge of watching over Harry. Perhaps a more strategically minded or covert person should have taken up the mantle? Regardless, the damage was done.

" _What's more irritating,"_ Albus thought as he sat down as his desk, _"is how untouchable she is."_

Luckily for them both, Arabella had not in any way hint at any confidential information during her little session with the WWN, not even mentioning Mundungus's name. Of course, Albus took care of _that_ source of ire as quickly as he could. Dung didn't even put up much of a fight when Albus pronounced him guilty for numerous charges of fraud, theft (of almost every variety), extortion… the list went on quite a while. Perhaps it was his guilt over letting one of the most famous people in the world die for a few galleons worth of products?

Albus shook his head, hoping to clear his head a little. Mundungus had been a very useful person to have within his sphere of influence, but that blow had been too great for Albus to look over. It, however, gave him the annoying task of having to once again find good contacts in the underworld.

With a small sigh, Albus looked at all the papers on his desk. With a lazy wave of his hand, Albus organized the sheets generally and unceremoniously incinerating the rather large stack of hate-mail that had arrived between the last few hours he had been away from the school. Though the mail's magical contents were thoroughly neutralized, the castle's mail organization system would keep the letter mostly intact, provided that the enchantments on the letter were not too dangerous. For an almost millennium-old system, Hogwarts's system was still served incredibly well.

With a fraction of a frown, Albus looked at the other stacks of paper on his desk. As much as he wanted to, Albus knew that he couldn't simply vaporise the paperwork that remained. He activated the magical-mechanism that he had designed to assist with his bureaucratic duties as he began to get to work. Oh how he wished he could simply clone himself and get the work done at an exponentially high speed! But, alas, life was one of the exceptions to Gamp's Laws of Transfiguration.

It was a small marvel that so much work could accumulate so quickly, Albus thought irritatedly. He felt like he was experiencing the muggle-perceived phenomenon of 'déjà-vu' as this had been the second time in the last few months where he had to virtually live in his office due to the amount of matters he had to attend to, not to mention the amount of hate-mail that he had been receiving as of late. What did the senders think he was supposed to do? Put an reverse-portkey or similar device on Harry?

Albus shook his head as he looked at the first sheet, immediately frowning as he looked at what it was. Dolores Jane Umbridge's toad-like face leer back at Albus as he studied the document. It was a warrant for the woman's arrest.

Albus wanted to simultaneously frown and cheer as he read on. It had been quite strange that Madame Umbridge was so easily found to have been the culprit of sending the dementors to attack Harry. It was almost suspicious too, if Madame Umbridge's extreme beliefs were not so well known. Truly though, it was rather odd that a person who was as cunning as Madame Umbridge would make such a careless error of _allowing herself to be seen exiting Azkaban_ , which had then lead to the ardent investigation that had led to the document sitting on his desk. It was almost as if she had been set up to fail…

Albus shook his head. No, that was not the most peculiar thing. Dolores Umbridge had gone missing only a day or two before the announcement of Harry's death by the ministry. It wasn't until only a few days ago when the aurors knocked on her door did they find her missing. It took a few more days, after the hit-wizards were called in, before they found her ravaged corpse in an abandoned shack near London. As far as Albus knew, the autopsy was still ongoing, though it was still unclear as to why the woman had died.

Albus vanished the outdated document as he continued to ponder. He had no lost love for the questionable woman, especially after he had done a small investigation on her background when she had first rose in the ranks of the Ministry, a very unflattering picture that in many ways complimented her political attitude. It was no small wonder that the woman gained so many enemies. Perhaps it was one of the many she had trampled on her way to her position who had engineered her fall? Albus's frown marginally grew. He had no time for political speculation, that was a job best left to sensationalists like Rita Skeeter (he chuckled, for he finally looked forward to reading one of Skeeter's articles).

A knocked sounded on the office door, causing Albus to look up. He lazily waved the door open to allow his visitor in.

"Come in," he said, slipping easily back into his grandfatherly state. Minerva walked into the office with more documents in hand.

"Pardon me for the intrusion, Headmaster," she said with a curtsey. Albus's frown increased by a fraction as he witnessed the unusually formal display.

"Yes, Minerva?" he asked. The young (from Albus's standpoint) woman gazed back at him stoically. Despite how little emotion was conveyed by her eyes, Albus could easily read the entirety of the fervid anger that she held. He could hardly blame her of course; it had been all the same when her students fell in battle during the war two decades prior.

"Here are the revised curricula for the upcoming year for both Transfiguration and Potions. The school board has already expressed its approval of it."

Albus resisted the urge to grit his teeth as he heard those words. The memory of a certain Wizengamot meeting repeated in his head as he remembered that he had even more sources of frustration than usual this early in the year.

Pius Thicknesse was not a particularly bad person in terms of qualifications or political stance. In fact, given his record at the ministry and grades and proficiencies that he had attained, Pius could be in some ways considered perfect. Perfect, as far as the school board, Wizengamot or Ministry were concerned but Albus had a bone to pick with that man.

"Thank you, Minerva," Albus replied with the barest measure of formality as he accepted the papers. He frowned as he looked down at the scrawly signature of Severus Snape on the first sheet.

"Has Severus spoken to you since that night?" Minerva asked quietly. Albus was silent, giving the Head of Gryffindor all the information she needed.

"He has been busy restocking the Hospital Wing," Albus said somewhat truthfully. Minerva raised her eyebrow a fraction but disregarded it.

"Well then, Headmaster, I shall be off." Albus looked up to see Minerva walking briskly away as she passed the Gubraithian braziers that lined the front of his office. After a few moments, Albus let out an audible sigh, the first in a very long time.

He wasn't used to having so many of his closest confidantes and friends either coldly speaking to him or even outright ignoring him. Even Elphias seemed rather miffed, only writing a painfully short response to Albus's request for advice. And then there was Sirius, who had the temerity of blocking him from entering 12 Grimmauld Place!

Albus summoned a bottle of Ogden's Finest from the far reaches of his office and quickly poured himself a glass. He took a long sip from the glass as he began to plot. The board was so much more different than he had originally anticipated it. Nevertheless, Albus knew he had to stay strong.

" _The light must never have no leader,"_ he thought, _"At least my contingencies are beginning to take fruition."_

With luck, the Longbottom lad would be able to take Harry's intended post, then all would be well. Albus finished his glass before he banished both glass and firewhisky back to their storing locations.

He drew his wand. The ancient rod hung loosely from his hand, the old wand that he had won from his duel against Gellert all those years ago. With a circular wave, Albus quietly cast a spell.

" **Luna Nox."**

And all went dark.

* * *

 _Date: Sunday, July 23_ _rd_ _1995_

 _Location: The Burrow_

Meals were a tense affair at the Burrow. Actually scratch that. It had been very tense in the Burrow since that night, simply that meals were more tense. Not a single word of conversation passed between anyone other than Arthur and Bill, both of whom were discussing classified information in hushed tones. Everyone else was not there, either physically or mentally. Case-in-point, only Ron, Bill and Arthur were at the table, the former deep in his thoughts while the latter two were conversing.

The kitchen was unusually quiet as Molly could no longer be found bustling around like a muggle housewife or maid, simply allowing the magical appliances to do all the work as she remained in her room, only willing to come out for meals. Occasionally, one could hear the angered wails of frustration that would arise from that room, no-one dared to enter for fear of the infamous 'Prewitt Wrath' and so she stayed, cold and despondent to the world.

Even the house in general was much quieter than usual. Fred and George's room on the second floor had not produced any noises ever since that day a week ago, save for a round of twenty-one small blasts on the following day. Since then, everything was quiet, eerily so, even if were to be expected. The twins themselves seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth sometimes, only occasionally showing up for meals as it suited their fancy. Even then, the two usually mischievously jovial pair were painfully sullen, as though they had been grieving a lost brother.

Ron let out a small sound as he looked around the table. _"What a reversal of events,"_ he thought bitterly. Ron felt as though someone had carved deep into him and cut out a large portion, leaving a very hollow stomach and heart, neither of which could be filled by anything. He had received a letter from both Hermione and Tracey, the former of which who couldn't actually finish her letter if the large teardrops on the sheet were any indication. Tracey's letter was more complete, though Ron could tell that she too had been sobbing as she wrote it out.

Tears sprang to Ron's eyes as a burning feeling began to envelop him. The visage of the smiling, grandfatherly Albus Dumbledore rose amongst the burning coals that was Ron's rage. Why couldn't he help Harry? Surely he would have some way of saving him, just like what he did with the phoenix and hat in their second year, or that time turner in their third! Dumbledore had always shown himself to be so powerful, especially that one time when he had effortlessly defeated Barty Crouch Junior a few months back. If he were so powerful, how could he not have been able to protect Harry from two measly dementors?

Not for the first time, Ron slammed the table hard, causing the plates on the table to shake. He knew he was being somewhat irrational but Ron needed someone to blame for the loss of his best friend. Looking around, Ron could even begin to even feel some rage welling up inside him directed at Harry. Why did he have to die, taking most of Ron's family's spirit with him. The thought horrified him the moment he thought of it.

Ron's father stood up abruptly, clearly displeased at whatever conclusion his conversation with Bill had reached.

"I have to get back to work now, Arnica is expecting me."

A sullen nod from Bill answered him and Arthur walked rather briskly towards the fireplace. Before his father existed the kitchen, Ron saw his stone-cold face glancing back at him. It was clear that Arthur Weasley was doing his best to mask his ire from the family, though anyone could tell his true feelings. Ron downturned his eyes. Before last week, he hadn't ever seen his father like this.

A hoot from an owl came through the attic and Bill quickly disapparated to receive the mail. Ron found himself alone on the dining table, watching the magical pots and pans cook up a lower-quality meal than he was used to. Not that he could blame his mother though…

Ginny was not in her usual seat at the table but Ron knew exactly what she was up to. Even at times late at night, Ron would hear loud wails of sadness all the way from his fifth floor room. Even at that distance, he could tell that it was the cries of his despondent sister, whom he hadn't seen in almost a week by now.

A rather loud pop came from the air near Ron as Bill had apparated back to the table. His expression mimicked their father's, looking stone cold as he held out the message.

"Look." Bill's statement left Ron no room to argue as he gingerly took the sheet of paper.

Ron easily identified the eloquent handwriting of his brother Percy and began to read the letter before his blood began to run cold. With shock and anger in his eyes, Ron unconsciously dropped the letter.

Bill looked pensively at Ron, who was now looking outright furious. The air around Ron's hand began to stir slightly but the effect faded almost as quickly as it had begun.

"Can we kill him?" Ron asked quietly. Bill closed his eyes. He could understand how angry Ron must feel right now. Bill hadn't even met Harry for long but had almost instantly taken a liking to the messy haired-bespectacled lad who had so intricately woven his way into his family. Harry's passing truly felt like a death in the family.

"No, we may not," Bill answered resolutely. He could see the immense rage that was seething through Ron's eyes, wanting to lash out at something, anything. It was remarkable that Ron had even kept it under control over the past few days, a type of self-control that Bill would not in a million years have expected from Ron, even only a short year ago. Perhaps something had changed in him this year?

Bill looked back at his youngest brother. As much as Percy's answer had dismayed him, he couldn't completely fault Percy for making such a decision, not that he would expect Ron to understand in a similar way. It also wouldn't do to allow Ron to lash out, property damage aside. Both their mother and sister were barely able to communicate as it were and Merlin knows what the twins themselves were up to. An idea popped into Bill's head.

"Look Ron, how about I teach you a few things I've learned in my time in Egypt?"

Ron took a moment before he stopped glaring at the piece of paper in his hand. His expression slowly changed from ire to curiosity as Bill smiled gently at his younger brother. It had been too long since the two of them had ever done anything together, the decade long age-gap between them making it quite hard for them both to find much common ground.

"What 're we doing?" croaked out Ron, clearly still angered by the letter. Bill kept his face neutral as he answered.

"You know how most Noble House estates had large open rooms where the inhabitants would use to clear their heads by releasing their anger through spellwork?" Ron nodded but still had a slightly confused expression on his face.

"But wh–" A flash of enlightenment dawned on Ron as he saw Bill pointing out of the window, where their rather untamed 'garden' lay.

"Welcome to our 'Danger Room'," Bill joked, hoping to lighten the situation slightly. Ron's fully confused look caused Bill to slap his forehead. "Just come out."

Ron followed Bill out of the house, much shakier than he expected. Bill looked back at his brother with a sad smile. Ron was faring much better than both Ginny and their mother, that much he was certain. On the other hand, Bill knew that there was more to Ron than he had ever realized. Hopefully, this little session would clear up a few things.

* * *

 _Location: Greengrass Manor_

On the other side of the country, a certain blonde girl had her wand out facing a multitude of illusionary targets conjured up by a small stone that her father had procured for her. Said father was watching his daughter from a few paces away with a cold expression on his face masking his true emotions.

" **REDUCTO!"**

The white projectile that projected from the tip of her wand left with the speed of a bullet, emitting an almost shrill, piercing sound before it collided with its target – a slab of rock disguised as a masked Death Eater. The extremely overpowered spell completely obliterated the rock, sending nothing but a fine powder cascading across the floor of the room.

Cyril's eyes widened a fraction and stared shocked at his daughter's sheer power. He of all people knew how the simplest curses could sometimes be the most potent but for Daphne, this was a whole new level of power that she had pushed into the Reductor Curse, or as far as he had seen. It almost made it plausible that… no, that was still impossible. No person her age, not even a prodigy should be able to cast _that_ …

Meanwhile, Daphne looked at the results of her work with an irritated expression marring her face. She had only recently been released from the hospital, earlier than the healers had recommended but Daphne's insistence had gotten the better of them. A strong feeling of restlessness had taken ahold of her and Daphne knew she had to do something or lose her mind.

"I missed by a few centimetres," she commented. Behind her, Daphne could hear her father grunt in response. With a small sight, Daphne allowed her shoulders to fall as she sheathed her wand.

"Very well, father, I will acknowledge my need of wearing those 'spectacles'," she said with distaste. Daphne turned around to see her father's stony gaze upon her.

"The glasses I have commissioned for you are specially designed to fit you in combat and any other situation. Many a powerful wizard and witch have worn such apparel, fitted with their own charms and counter-curses of course. Of course, you may customize your pair as you see fit."

Daphne knew it was pointless to argue with the man, particularly because of how right he was. While it wasn't by much, Daphne could easily tell just how bad her vision seemed to have deteriorated since that fateful night. She still could only remember chunks of what happened but all she knew was that it had been horrific. Much like her having to wear glasses.

"Pardon me, father, but would it not be easier to commission a pair of those 'contact lens' muggles use?" Her father gave her a look.

"I assure you, the glasses that have been commissioned are more than sufficient for your use. If you so desire, you may do as you wish in that respect. I however, do not find any reason why you may have to."

Daphne smiled slightly as her father went on about other famous wizards and witches who wore spectacles in the past. She however knew (or at least thought) that it was simply another case of wizardkind being unwilling to leave their traditions, especially not choosing something that was completely developed by muggles. Now if healers were only more willing to research how to fix people's eyesight, maybe this situation could be avoided altogether.

"… as much as I disliked the man, even James Potter…"

Daphne froze at the mention of the name 'Potter'. A traumatic memory flowed through her, causing Daphne to shudder. Without warning, a certain amount of anger poured through her as she listened to her father continue to talk.

This was not the first time where she had felt these sudden impulses of rage but knew exactly what to do.

"Excuse me, father, but I must cast a spell," Daphne interjected. Her father frowned but stopped speaking, allowing Daphne to once again draw her wand against another slab of rock that sat in the middle of the room.

" **Glacius Eructo!"**

A large shard of ice rocketed towards the illusion of the Death Eater. A loud crack could be heard as bits of ice and rock came flying out of the massive impact. Daphne glared with quiet rage at the debris she had created.

"Well done."

Daphne tried to suppress the majority of her irritation as she turned around to look at her father who had his signature stoic expression on at full force. Daphne resisted the temptation to curse under her breath, knowing that it would only serve to anger her father. Instead, she curtseyed.

"Thank you for your compliment, father," she said with gritted teeth.

In her mind, she felt a burning desire to hunt down the ones responsible for her current feelings. As always, her mind quickly jumped to a certain messy haired boy, who's goofy smile she had long since become accustomed to. What was once a thought which merely induced slight irritation in her now filled her with rage. But that quickly faded away.

Daphne did not know what to think and her thoughts would quickly turn to the toad-like face of Dolores Umbridge, which filled her with even more anger. It felt like a constant, vicious cycle which she would fall into whenever she was alone. Even the ice-hardened façade that Daphne was so proud of cracked under so much pressure. No wonder the only person willing to deal with her now was her unflappable father.

"Back to your training, Daphne," her father reminded.

Daphne pursed her lips but turned back to the rock slabs in front of her. She had specifically requested her father allow her to practise her spellwork in this room, mostly so that she had a space to vent her anger. Unfortunately, the man had apparently not understood what she meant when she asked for a 'private' usage of the room as she soon found herself blasting the rock with her father watching, judging her from behind…

That last thought lingered in her mind.

A thought of Harry's face re-entered her mind, it always did when she was trying to focus. Why that was certainly was beyond her but at the very least she knew how irritated she got from it. His goofy face morphed into Umbridge's, as it usually did, filling Daphne with evermore anger. A few tears welled in her eyes.

And so she incanted.

" **ARUSPICES AUFERO!"**

Daphne fired the dark spell at the rock seemingly without a care in the world. In the back of her head, she could hear her father's shout but she paid it no attention. With a resounding blast, the spell collided with the rock. A few moments later, the rock seemingly imploded, jettisoning fractions of its center out as though it was being turned inside out.

"DAPHNE QUEENIE GREENGRASS!"

The blonde froze and looked back at her father before almost gasping in shock. The usually stoic Lord Greengrass was absolutely livid as he glared down at his daughter. For a moment, Daphne felt as though she had been reduced to her five-year-old self, being scolded by her terrifying father.

"What in Merlin's name possessed you to learn such a dangerous spell!" he screamed. Daphne flinched. Naturally, the real reason was for her to have an ace-in-the-hole for the upcoming year. It was no secret to her that Pansy would be undergoing equal, if not more dangerous practise of dark spells and magicks just to get an edge on Daphne. To level the playing field, Daphne had decided to visit their family library and 'learn' the most debilitating spells that she was certain that she could cast.

"What do you have to say for yourself!" her father roared.

It was a clichéd line, Daphne knew, but the combination of her father's aura, his enraged expression and drawn wand made it all the more frightening. She felt her focus elapse for a single moment. And it was then, did the man strike.

Daphne felt her mind being forced open as a rush of air hit her face. She almost fell down in shock as she realized what was happening, not that she could do anything to stop her father from reading her mind. The legilimentic attack lasted a few more moments before Daphne felt her mind loosen considerably. She let out a breath, her anger and fright both depleted. However, it seemed that her father was only all the more displeased.

"Get out." Lord Greengrass's words were as cold as ice and Daphne knew not to challenge him.

Her punishment would come later. For now, there was no telling what Lord Cyril Greengrass would do with the information that his strongest business partner's daughter had all but declared war on his own. With her tail between her legs, Daphne quickly left.

* * *

 _Location: The Burrow_

Bill looked around the garden with a mixture of shock and awe as he saw the remains of the garden. A chill ran down his spine as he looked around the area. Fortunately, their little session had not extended beyond the reach of the house's security wards as no muggles had come to investigate the matter. With a sigh of relief, Bill looked back at the devastation.

While the garden could not be considered neat since Mrs. Weasley had stopped maintaining the area, the current state of the area was by far the worst that Bill had seen since his mother had prohibited the twins from experimenting in the garden. Holes of vary sizes covered the landscape dotted with chunks of dirt, uprooted when Ron had used the tunnelling charm with varying degrees of power (or accuracy).

The smell of cut grass permeated the air, courtesy of Ron hacking away at the surrounding foliage, now reduced to nothing but ribbons thanks to the sword-forming charm. Lying in the middle of all this was an exhausted Ron, who had fallen back to sleep from exhaustion.

Bill walked up to his younger brother with a measure of pride. He had been pleasantly surprised at how far Ron had come since the last time they had really spent time together as brothers. However, the harrowing reason for their gathering quickly reminded him of the nature of their situation.

"…bledore…"

Bill snapped his gaze to his younger brother and quickly examined him. Contrary to his usually peaceful sleeping expression, Ron seemed extremely uncomfortable, showing signs of still repressed anger. It wasn't difficult to see why it was as such. Ron must have overheard parts of his conversations with their father about Dumbledore's suspected involvement in the incident and had put the pieces together.

It had been a great surprise for Bill to learn just how overinvolved Albus Dumbledore had been in wizarding affairs, having to juggle so many important positions at once while caring for so many was virtually impossible, something which seemingly not many actually knew. Like many, Bill had doubted his father when he was told this information, mostly because of how hotly his mother countered his points. It wasn't really until now when Bill really understood the true gravity of the situation.

Albus Dumbledore was without a doubt one of the greatest wizards of all time. He was also either over-capable to the point of under-capability, or simply was insane. It was a moment of enlightenment for the twenty-four-year-old wizard, one that he sorely wished he learnt of sooner. Perhaps he could have done something to protect Harry, knowing that Dumbledore simply couldn't afford to watch over so many things at the same time… Bill knew that it was simply hindsight speaking as he looked back at Ron's pain stricken face. After all, who could predict that _dementors_ would attack him…

Bill was so lost in thought that he didn't notice the owl until it had begun pecking him in the head. With a yelp of pain, Bill quickly jumped back and placed his arm out. The owl landed and began grooming itself as Bill untied the letter that was fastened on the owl's leg. From the messy scrawl, he deduced that the letter was from Charlie, the only brother than had not yet responded to the letter. Hoping for good news, Bill quickly paid the owl and began reading the letter.

A few moments later, Bill frowned and stuffed the letter into his back pocket. As troublesome as that was, Bill now had a family meeting to plan, one that would most probably be the most important meeting they had ever had.

And he was not looking forward to it.

With a resolute sigh, Bill Weasley made his way back to the house, casting one last look at Ron before he entered the house. Ron would be fine in their backyard, having a few minutes to recuperate on his own. What the older redhead didn't notice however were the owls that landed a few feet away from his younger brother, just a few seconds after he had re-entered the house, one carrying a letter with a sigil of three ravens and a drawn sword and the other with a package baring the crest of Gringotts Bank.

 _Location: Ship sailing to Ionian Islands, Greece_

A familiar scene of a rather large mouse scampering through a crowded area played out in front of us. Its fur seemed to change color every time the mouse changed from one terrain from another. Using this charm derived from a chameleon's ability, coupled with darting between areas of shade and alleyways made the mouse virtually impossible to detect, let alone catch even by the most eagle-eyed sailors that watched the deck.

Voldemort knew that it was critically important for him to keep on the move, both to maintain anonymity as well as to give people the feeling that he was omnipresent. It was a very effective tactic that he had used in the previous war, where he used a version of the apparition technique where he would teleport to one of his follower's Dark Marks rather than a given location. It was a much more precise form of travel and the seeming omnipresence that came with it had really been effective for his campaign…

The mouse broke from his reminiscence as he quickly found a small hole in his vicinity. With the enhanced nose that this particular form gifted him, Voldemort was able to determine that the area was safe. And so he quickly dove in.

The possessed mouse took a moment to catch its breath. It was incredibly apparent to him that this body severely needed exercise, a fact abundantly clear after this particularly exhausting run through the ship. It was a pity that they had not been able to find more than one functioning invisibility cloak but…

Nagini slid up behind her master, gently caressing her master's head. Even if he were in the body of a mouse, the snake could easily recognize her master's unique magical scent, such was the bond between man and horcrux.

"Ah, good Nagini," Voldemort squeaked in Parseltongue. Nagini looked extremely pleased, hissing softly at her master's praise. The snake quickly slid around so that her full length fitted neatly into this small crevice before revealing her underbelly to her master. The mouse-sized Voldemort drew a tiny wand that had been hidden in his fur.

He waved it at Nagini's underbelly.

A moment later, a rectangular crack could be seen on the snake skin. Nagini rubbed that area on the wooden flooring of the ship, making the rectangle more and more visible. A few moments later, the rectangle popped straight off her body.

"Good work, dear. Now run along and find a mouse to eat," Voldemort said, inwardly cackling at the jittery sensation that he could feel from the deep recessed of his mind. For a spineless coward, Wormtail's mind was surprisingly resilient… but still nothing to the master legilimens that Voldemort was.

Voldemort scurried over to the rectangle and flipped it over. It had been a remarkable idea, even for his own genius, to hide the inopportune letter sent to him by an Imperiused Corban Yaxley who had been 'tasked' with updating his master on the goings-on in the British Ministry ever since that night about a month ago. Voldemort had been waiting on news about the 'investigation' that his trusted agent was performing. If you needed to find any secret within the Ministry, Corban Yaxley was one of the best starting points to go from.

Though it had taken an extra week over what the ex-dark lord had been expecting, results were results and Voldemort knew that his patience had not been wasted. Without another thought, he cast the Magic Resumption Charm on the paper to allow the text to surface.

A moment later, a small blast could be heard coming from the crevice. Nagini let out a moderately loud hiss as she felt smoke touch her recently moulted skin. None of the muggle sailors noticed any of this of course, given their general imperceptibleness when it came to magical matters. It was one of the two reasons why Voldemort had opted to travel using muggle means.

The smoke quickly vanished before anyone else could take notice as the fuming Lord Voldemort glared at the space that once was the message that Yaxley had sent.

Failure.

It was a word that did not deserve a place in Voldemort's dictionary, just as Yaxley was undeserving of his praise and effort used. The dark lord might as well have Imperiused a janitor to do the work, for it would have netted the same result.

The angry mouse spat on the slightly charred ground before looking back at his pet snake, who had coiled herself slightly looser around him. Voldemort frowned slightly. Nagini should not have had such an adverse reaction to the smoke, that called for some adjustments.

The mouse slipped out of the crevice, blending into the wooden boards with its brown fur as it made its way to the deck. A fervent ocean breeze fettered around, though it was no inconvenience to the magically fortified mouse. It gazed into the distance, trying to spot the islands he was travelling to.

Rumor said that this is where a sample of Herpo the Foul's original scripture lay.

And Voldemort knew that all rumors had its roots in fact.

The possessed mouse grinned evilly, it eyes briefly turning from its usual brown shade to a sickly yellow one. The pupils elongated vertically, making the eyes look as though they had become two small slits on the mouse's face. Voldemort felt his rage leave him as he looked further into the horizon.

" _It will soon come,"_ Voldemort mused. If his tome was correct, this would be his best option of regaining his body, ever since his last attempt had failed.

* * *

 _Spells Used:_

 _Luna Nox – Absolute Darkness Charm_

 _Reducto – Reductor Curse_

 _Glacius Eructo – Ice Spout Charm_

 _Aruspices Aufero – Entrails-Expelling Curse_

 _Virgaium – Tunnelling Charm_

 _Ensiformus – Sword-Forming Charm_

 _Magicae Sileo – Magic Resumption Charm_

 _ **Next Time: Remembrance**_


	4. Chapter 4 - Remembrance

" _Text"_ – Thoughts

" **Text"** – Spellcast

" _Text"_ – Non-English Words

 _Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 4 – Remembrance**_

 _Date: Monday, 31_ _st_ _July 1995_

 _Location: Godric's Hollow_

A dry but warm wind blew through the area, sharply contrasting with the atmosphere of the area. It was still in the early hours of the day but many, many people had gathered here. Rich, poor, local, foreign, old, young, it was truly a gathering of the masses. Many were trying to get in a position closer to the casket, to see the person they had all come to see. In midst of the sea of black cloth, Tracey Davis almost snorted. If Harry were alive to see this, he would have died out of embarrassment all over again. A certain amount of levity could usually help the situation but even the quick-witted brunette was finding it hard to keep herself from dissolving into tears.

If only she had knocked Harry away from the dementor during that confrontation… if only they hadn't shown up… if only….

Tracey had been plagued with the knowledge of all the possibilities that could have happened, all the potential routes that they could have gone. In all of them, Harry would have come out alive, a little worse for wear but otherwise the same lovable idiot that even Daphne was beginning to dislike little to the point of neutrality.

Said blonde would have huffed in her arrogant manner, chiding Harry on his mistakes while veiling her feelings of worry through her harsher words. Instead, Tracey's best friend was all but despondent as she stared straight at the ground, not caring what or whom was in front of her.

Daphne was hunched over, her shoulder-length blonde hair covered the entirety of her face. Her expression was completely veiled by her golden tresses, even Tracey could not discern the true extent of Daphne's emotions. To any casual observer, the blonde merely seemed to be deep in thought, allowing her hair to obscure her face simply to keep others from prying into what she was thinking.

Tracey could hardly blame Daphne, though, since them both had watched their friend perish in front of them.

That's right. Harry Potter. Friend to Tracey Davis.

It would have been utterly inconceivable little over a year ago, before that final ride on the Hogwarts Express of their third year. Then that happened, one thing lead to another… and you know all the rest. Part of her was still surprised that he stuck for so long (most people would have bene driven away by Daphne's attitude), or that even Ron stayed around them as well.

Tracey hadn't seen the redhead yet but there was no doubt that he would show up. Perhaps he would even give a speech to honor his lost friend? Tracey would have giggled as she tried to imagine Ron tripping over a well-crafted but poorly executed speech but the forlorn gloom drained any feelings of mirth away.

Tracey had spotted a few of their classmates and even some upperclassmen. Neville Longbottom and his grandmother had been some of the first to have arrived, well before Tracey or Daphne had been side-along apparated here by their parents. The formerly pudgy boy nodded at them sombrely in recognition. Tracey reciprocated stiffly before nudging Daphne to do the same.

The sun rose soon enough, casting a hazy glow on the depressively chilling graveyard. Tracey spotted other familiar faces, including Terence Boot and his family, most of the Anne-Perks entourage and a few others. Tracey even spotted a few of her own relatives who had come by, some from as far as the United States. An aunt spotted her, greeting her frostily, which Tracey returned in kind.

It had not taken much longer for the area to get much more crowded, forming a wave of black cloth upon the dreary cemetery. Tracey was certain that a few more of their classmates had arrived as well but were not able to see each other because of the number of people present. Were it not for Undetectable Extension Charms, this congregation would have been impossible. Tracey estimated that there was more 'extended' space here than the entire village itself had, in her latest attempt to divert her attention away.

Unfortunately, like every other attempt, she failed.

Amidst the sea of black cloth, Tracey felt like just another random person, attending the funeral of someone she had some idea of. In another life, this may have been the case but in this one, Tracey was much, much more.

More tears welled up in her eyes as she found herself vividly recalling that horrible night. The misty chill in the air. The ferocity of the dementors. The vacant but harrowing street where the battle took place… It was a vivid memory that Tracey so dearly wanted to forget. But she wouldn't do something so disrespectful to a person she admired so. Regardless of those thoughts, she trembled in the memory of the foul stench that the dementors had, her tears beginning to fall.

"Greengrass!"

The somewhat familiar voice cut into Tracey's thoughts like a hot knife through butter. She snapped back into consciousness and looked around for the source of the voice. Somewhere between the curtains of black, the bushy head of Hermione Granger made its way to Tracey and Daphne. Tracey was about to greet the incoming bookworm but was stopped when Hermione stopped a few inches away from them.

"You were there, weren't you?" Hermione asked sharply.

Tracey looked surprised for a moment but noticed Hermione's expression. It was one of silent, bubbling fury, like a bomb ready to be set off. Tracey held back a gulp and looked over to Daphne. As expected, the blonde had not even made a move to acknowledge her rival's presence, something that obviously irritated Hermione.

"Don't bother denying it, I analysed ever bit of information I could get my hands on about the incident," she babbled, clearly distressed.

While her words were forceful, Hermione's eyes shone in a mixture of anger, and deep, deep sorrow. Tracey couldn't even bring herself to say anything and just stared at the floor, much like what Daphne had been doing for the past while. She couldn't face the irate Gryffindor, not now.

"Two smaller figures were spotted on the scene, whisked away by St. Mungo's staff? I know that you two live closest to Harry, no-one else is around for miles…" Hermione continued to blabber.

Amidst her wallowing, Tracey began to feel a prick of irritation at Hermione's words. While she certainly did not buy into the whole 'blood supremacy' ideology, the Slytherin brunette found herself more and more irked at the bookworm's invasion of their privacy. Tracey looked to Daphne, wondering if the blonde would now act. Daphne, however stayed silent.

"Hermione, now is not the time…" Tracey pleaded, barely choking out the words.

She was becoming increasingly worried at Daphne's lack of retort or even acknowledgement of Hermione's words. At school, she would never shut up about the "infractions that muggle-born bint has wrought", a talk Tracey had come all too familiar with. In class… well, that was a whole war waged between two titanic forces. Given Daphne's earlier behaviour… well…

By now, Hermione's irritation resurfaced and she moved even closer to Daphne.

"Greengrass? Can you even hear me?" Hermione's voice had dropped in volume somewhat. It appeared that even she had noticed that something was amiss when the usually quick-tongued blonde refused to answer.

"…"

Hermione moved back as Daphne abruptly shifted slightly. Tracey held her breath as Daphne hair began to part. It was only then did the brunette notice her best friend's gentle shaking slowly increasing. Tracey threw a sharp glance at Hermione, hoping that the Gryffindor would take the hint and leave before something worse happened. Unfortunately, Hermione stood her ground, looking fiercely at slowly reappearing blonde's face.

"I was…"

Daphne's voice was minute, almost inaudible to Tracey. Hermione seemed to have also heard the statement as her glare intensified.

"And?" Hermione demanded.

Tracey looked sharply towards Hermione, whose gaze was growing more and more strong. In her eyes, a deep sadness permeated through her misty brown pupils, barely veiled by the anger she was displaying. Tracey's eyes widened in understanding. She opened her mouth, about to try and diffuse the situation but Daphne spoke.

"I failed…"

Tracey watched as Hermione's razor sharp gaze turned even thinner as she glared at Daphne. A few strands of blonde hair veiled her face from Hermione's view, though Tracey could quite clearly see a sight she had never thought she would ever witness.

Daphne had been crying.

In hindsight, it should have been obvious, given the almost imperceptible shuddering, the minute amount of sound coming from her friend since they had gotten here and even the blank despondence that Daphne had been projecting. It wasn't, as Tracey thought, Daphne's way of masking her icy fury but rather her way of veiling the amount of sadness that she was trying to keep bottled up. To say that Tracey was surprised was an understatement. For Daphne to be depressed to this extent?

Unfortunately, it appeared that Hermione had different thoughts on the matter.

"You failed, huh?" she said quietly. Alarm bells began to ring in Tracey's head as Hermione moved dangerously close to Daphne. The blonde's head was still tilted downwards, unable to see the bushy-haired girl's advance. Tracey's eyes widened and began to move, though knowing that she wouldn't get there in time.

 _SMACK_

Tracey watched in horror as the muggle-born witch smacked the pureblooded heiress across the face. Daphne's face came into full view as her hair followed the direction her head had went. In those brief moments, the tears in her eyes were in full display. A few tears had rolled down her cheeks, absorbed by her hair when Daphne was hunched over. It was a remarkably clever tactic to maintain her façade of iciness, though the mask was completely shattered right now.

Daphne didn't make a sound as she took the blow. It hadn't been a particularly strong hit, nothing that wouldn't be fixed with a simple healing spell or potion. However, the blonde's grieved expression was truly harrowing. The few people who had been watching the commotion had formed a small crowd around them. Angry shouts from the onlookers had begun to build, furious that an insolent muggle-born had the audacity to strike a person with so much more social standing.

The girl in question looked immensely shocked, both by her own actions and Daphne's reaction and expression. The tears in Daphne's eyes were enough to overwhelm her as the sadness in Hermione's eyes moved to the foreground. Her eyes began to water and soon, Hermione was crying loudly, like a woman who had lost her brother.

Tracey watched the pair of rivals crying over their lost friend. Sadness enveloped her once more as she began to cry. The roar of the angry mob began to fade from her senses as she wiped some of the tears from her eyes. If she didn't do something, who knows what more would happen. There had been enough pain and suffering already.

"That's enough."

The deathly cold voice of Lord Cyril Greengrass thundered through the crowd. The mob was immediately silenced, wisely parting for the man as he walked to where his daughter had been sitting. His expression was as cold as ice, his eyes piercing deep. Tracey's tears had begun to lessen and a feeling of dread began to take over.

The Greengrass lord looked over his daughter for a few moments before frowning. Daphne's tears had lessened considerably, though her red eyes were enough of an indication of her emotions. The man then turned his face towards the bawling Hermione, who was on her knees in front of Daphne. A bigger frown marred his face.

"Daphne." The cool addressing seeming snapped the blonde back to her senses. She reapplied her façade as she looked to her father.

"I am unharmed, father. There is no need to punish Ms. Granger here," she said. Tracey could tell between the inflections of her tone that Daphne was still thoroughly shaken. Her friend's ability to mask her emotions was remarkable, though Tracey was glad she did not have to do so herself.

The Greengrass lord frowned, looking towards Hermione. He took a few minutes of deliberation before he spoke again.

"Very well then, I shall instead arrange for her to be escorted back to her assigned seat. Until later, Daphne."

The man drew his wand. A moment later, a house-elf bearing the Greengrass symbol appeared. It whispered a few words to Hermione, who seemed to calm down significantly. After a few moments, the house elf began walking away from them, with Hermione in tow. Within moments, the pair had been swallowed up by the crowd.

* * *

It wasn't much long later until the crowded area had become fully packed, so much so that the extension charms were at their theoretically stable limit. Tracey had spotted a few more familiar faces, though none that she recognized beyond just seeing them around school. Ron still hadn't shown up yet, while odd, was not something Tracey was particularly worried about.

On the other hand, there was yet another small outburst of activity when Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour of all people showed up to the funeral with their families and a few important looking people in tow. The appearance of the two foreign Triwizard champions caused a small stirrup which was thankfully quelled equally quickly when Viktor pulled out what appeared to be a permit of some sort and showed it to a Ministry worker.

Viktor nodded in Tracey's direction when he passed her, as stoic as ever. Fleur, on the other hand, looked like the vehemently did not want to be here, yet stayed for some personal reason. Tracey wasn't too bothered with that though so didn't try to investigate further.

Daphne hadn't left her seat since the incident with Hermione, though she now persisted with her usually icy façade which kept any and all away from speaking to her. It was markedly bizarre from Tracey's standpoint to watch the effects of Daphne's glare, so intense that small children would outright refuse to walk in her line of sight. However, as strong as it was, Daphne's icy expression could not hide the emotions that she was feeling.

Suddenly, a loud crack sounded, causing a large number of people to turn around. Albus Dumbledore had just arrived on scene, bringing forth a trio of people who seemed strangely familiar to Tracey. With a gasp of surprise, she fearfully realized who these people were – the Dursley Family.

"F*****!" came a shout a few meters behind Tracey. She sat up straighter. For a moment, she thought that the person had somehow recognized the muggles that had appeared alongside the wizened headmaster, a fact that, while surprising, did not violate any laws that she could think of. However, that thought soon faded as more people turned and looked.

Further expletives and similar comments were made as Albus quietly made his way to the area that had been reserved for those closest to the deceased, of which Tracey and Daphne had found themselves whisked to by the officials who had guided them there.

With a flash of insight, Tracey realized that the people were not cursing at the muggles but rather at Dumbledore himself, as though he was the one to blame for this situation. Tracey sat herself deeper into her seat, before shaking her head, trying to prevent herself from delving deeper into that hole.

To distract herself, Tracey turned her attention back to the Dursleys, who seemed to be shuffling extremely awkwardly behind Dumbledore. The trio looked somewhat out of place considering their rather crisp muggle attire in contrast to the dress robes that the majority of the wizards and witches in attendance had.

Harry's aunt turned the corner and continued to walk until she was a few steps away from Tracey and Daphne. With some surprise, the woman faltered in her step, falling into the dirt unceremoniously. Her husband gave a sidelong glance to the Slytherin pair and quickly helped his wife up. Despite her fall, Harry's aunt seemed no worse for wear as she got up. She dusted herself off as she looked in the direction of Tracey and Daphne, and that's when Tracey noticed the small number of tears in her eyes. In a flash, the woman had looked away, so fast that Tracey almost wondered if it had been a trick of the light.

Harry's cousin hobbled along after his parents, careful to not look directly at Tracey or Daphne. However, the astute brunette could see the expression on his portly face. It was a strange mix of sorrow and confusion, as though he had been awoken from some sort of compulsion so something… Tracey filed that information in as she watched the family sit themselves at a seat quite far away from Tracey and Daphne. Tracey managed to catch a quick glance that the stout boy threw behind him before she refocused onto what was in front of her.

* * *

A few rows behind Tracey, Neville fidgeted uncomfortably. He was one of the people who had the _honor_ of being one of those closest to Harry, despite them barely knowing one another beyond what all the rising-fifth year Gryffindor boys knew about each other.

It had left Neville extremely shocked and sad when his grandmother had burst into his room with the terrible news of Harry's demise. While they were not the closest of friends, Harry had always been nice to him, beyond simply helping him out if (when) Neville needed it and so the formerly plump boy had considered the messy-haired boy a good friend all this time. For him to be gone, especially after everything left a hole in Neville's heart.

Coming to the funeral made it all real, as though it had just been a mortifying nightmare beforehand. Gran had been insistent that Neville wore his best clothes (masterfully engorged by the lady herself) to the funeral, both as a sign of respect as well as sincerity. And so Neville sat, wondering what he should be doing in that instance.

Neville had always considered himself the lone one out of the five boys, as Dean and Seamus had always been close, while Harry and Ron's partnership was famous even beyond the school itself. It left Neville not quite alone but without a person whom he could easily identify as his 'best friend'. While usually not a problem, this had left him with a rather difficult time with the task that Professor Dumbledore had given him.

Neville had been gobsmacked that the revered Albus Dumbledore had written to him of all people, a flash of glory that had been quickly extinguished when his grandmother brought him the chilling news. Thus, the professor's letter had taken a backseat in his mind until now, where he had found himself sitting on his seat for a little over two hours by now and was thus suitably bored.

The boy looked to his left at the seat temporarily vacated belonging to a certain bushy haired Gryffindor. Neville fidgeted as he recalled the rather conspicuous skirmish that had occurred earlier on. It was somewhat embarrassing that _he_ of all people had been the unintentional instigator for Hermione's outburst when he carelessly mumbled the classified information that his grandmother had mentioned to him on the terrible day when the news had arrived.

Lord Robert's sudden disappearance from the Wizengamot conference had been odd enough for Neville's old Gran to look deeper into the matter. While she hadn't found much, she did learn that the 'family emergency' that Lord Robert had left for involved his granddaughter. Apparently, this was enough information for Hermione to put two and two together, hence the rather Gryffindorish rampage that she had underwent.

When the girl had returned somewhat calmer than she had left with a Greengrass house-elf in tow, Neville looked somewhat surprised but relieved. Many of the older Houses had strong magicks that they kept secret from the greater magical community, as was their right. While unheard of in the more extremist families, some would in fact teach their more senior house-elves some magic. At least, this was the rationalization that Neville made as the previously outraged Hermione walked back rather calmly to him.

"Hey, Neville."

The blond boy nodded in response to Hermione, who had soundlessly plopped herself on the seat next to him. From her red eyes, it was quite clear that she had just been crying in the 'portable' bathroom that was nearby. Neville could hardly blame her but it did make his 'task' a little more difficult than it should be. Unfortunately, Neville knew that this would be the only time before the beginning of term that he would be able to talk face-to-face with Hermione.

"Hey, Hermione," he replied softly. Hermione let out a loud sniffle as Neville continued. "Erm… how long do you reckon we'll have before the … er … event begins?"

Hermione looked at him sharply and Neville almost gulped in response. Right, that was probably not the most tactful way to start the conversation but it wasn't like he could really help it!

"I don't know," she quietly replied after a few moments, he eyes cast towards the front of the area. Neville nodded and cast a look in the same direction. Amidst the sea of black cloaks, Albus Dumbledore was quite clearly visible, talking to a person that Neville vaguely recognized as the current stand-in head of House Archibald, a twenty-or-so year old weedy man who seemed rather flustered at being directly talked to by one of the magical legends of modern day. For a moment, Neville could have sworn that Professor Dumbledore looked in his direction and gave him one of his signature 'eye-twinkles' that the old Grand Sorcerer was so famous for.

Neville started and turned back to Hermione. Professor Dumbledore was counting on him, to preserve Harry's legacy… to do what the messy haired boy was meant to do… With a breath to steel his nerves, Neville began on what he had been instructed to do.

"Say, Hermione, do you know who Pius Thicknesse is?" Predictably, the bookworm nodded gently.

"He's … the head of the Investigation Department at the Ministry isn't he?" she responded. Neville nodded.

"Yeah, apparently, he is supposed to be our next Defence teacher next year," he said casually. Neville was still rather unsure why Professor Dumbledore had revealed this information to him so casually but decided that this would be a good starting point for what he was about to ask of Hermione. What surprised him further was how quickly Hermione's expression went from despondence to her usual attitude.

"Are you sure?" she asked with surprising force. Neville simply nodded, not knowing why Hermione was suddenly so worked up about it.

"Thicknesse is Ministry employee, quite a high ranking one at that…" Hermione muttered. Neville could only watch somewhat dumbfounded as the bushy haired girl began muttering rather rapidly in a tone so low that he was having trouble understanding what she was saying.

"but that… no … they can't … Professor Dumbledore should have…" Hermione continued to think out loud for a few more moments.

"Um… Hermione?" Neville asked with a hint of the timidness that he yet to shed. Hermione snapped back into reality and gave him a guilty look.

"Sorry Neville, I was just thinking. The thing is, if an official like Mr. Thicknesse was appointed as our DADA professor, it would mean that the Ministry is attempting to intervene in our education. Last time I checked, the Ministry has absolutely no authority on Hogwarts, even though it fully funds the school and all its needs…" Hermione trailed off, looking somewhat faraway as he mentioned this. She shook her head and turned back to Neville.

"The point is, there must be a reason why the Ministry is trying to interfere with our education. They don't have any right to, since Hogwarts is considered an entity completely separate from the Ministry." Hermione's eyes had a sort of blazing fire in it, reminiscent of her attitude when she was solving a particularly challenging question in Arithmancy, or learning a complex charm. She turned back to Neville.

"So what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?" she asked, he voice almost completely devoid of her previous sadness. Neville blinked a few times.

"Well, I was just thinking that we could set up some sort of group to study, since our O.W.L.s are coming up soon," he said rather casually. That was all Professor Dumbledore had suggested him to do. Neville had decided that asking the smartest person he knew (that would talk to him) was probably the best idea. Though, he was beginning to reconsider that when he saw the sparkling look that Hermione gave him.

"That's… you're a genius Neville!" Hermione almost-shouted, causing a few of the people around them to look at them strangely. Neville turned bright red as the bushy haired girl grabbed his hand and shook it. It was a somewhat surprising turn of events.

"So –" Neville began before he was cut off by Hermione.

"I'll work out something, don't worry," Hermione sad rapidly. It was obvious that she was going off to her own 'world' as Neville and the rest of the boys had usually called this state of mind that Hermione would enter when she had found an interesting problem to solve. It was an unwritten consensus between the quintet to not interrupt the girl in when she was like this, lest incur her wrath.

"Well … um … I'll just …" Neville mumbled to himself. A few moments later, A loud whoosh could be heard as a large crowd appeared in the apparation field. Ron and his family walked out, looking far grimmer than ever. Neville had never seen the redheaded boy look so sullen than as he walked briskly to the front rows to his assigned seat.

* * *

 _A few hours later…_

Applause rang as far as the eye could see as Ron Weasley walked off. Many cried as he spoke in great length of the four-year long friendship that he had with Harry, with a level of emotion that even those closest to him were surprised about. Even Daphne felt a large amount of respect for the Weasley boy as she heard herself being summoned to speak.

She got up, staggering slightly from the sheer emotions she had been feeling. She couldn't find it in herself to care about the lack of grace that she was exuding and instead just walked up slowly, almost mirroring Ron as his sullen demeanour stomped past her. In the corner of her eye, she saw him signal towards the forest that bordered the edge of the magical zone. Despite herself, Daphne turned slightly and looked, her tear-stained eyes finding nothing.

Unperturbed, Daphne turned back and looked forward. The crowd beside her seemed to buzz in excitement, interest or something else. Daphne couldn't hear then though, as her eyes wandered forward to what she had been doing her best to ignore for the past few hours. Her heart dropped once again.

The great golden casket lay, thankfully covered by a garish-looking cover, all for the world to see. A few drops of liquid flowed from Daphne's eyes as she hastily reapplied the glamor that her father had provided her with. Each step felt heavier than the last as she made her way to the front. She had to at least make it to speak. With a few more steps, she stopped and stared, doing her best to steel her nerves.

Daphne looked out at the massive congregation as she did her best to keep herself from sinking into the ground. The crowd watched back, like a giant cloud of darkness judging her every move. She tried to focus on the faces she recognized, her father's cool gaze which was mirrored by her mother's. Ron's sullen stare projected blankly in front of him, unseeing and unperturbed. He was probably taking it harder than she. Daphne soon realized that she had been standing still for a few moments now. With a choked breath, she began to speak.

"Harry and I –" she began. The crowd before her was silent yet primed, eager to hear her speak though not all for the most righteous reasons. Daphne was well aware of all that as she continued with her speech. She was under no illusion that most people here believed that her relationship with Harry was simply a farce, a fact that seemed both true and false to the blonde who had now begun recounting the past year's events in small detail.

"He was not the brightest of people. Talented, but not prodigal in most ways," Daphne said truthfully. Some people in the crowd seemed rather slighted by what she had said, which caused her to almost frown in displeasure. Just because a person had performed incredible feats in their past didn't automatically mean that they were prodigies. After all, magic is based on will and intent.

"– but definitely one of the bravest people I have ever seen." Daphne couldn't help but allow the corners of her mouth upturned as another wave of tears began to well up in her eyes. A memory of herself screaming horrified as the fiery shower descended upon a battered Harry all those months ago played, then another memory of a rather drawn-out set of events where Harry had fought in the third task's maze … and then …

The emotional torrent that Daphne was barely keeping at bay broke free, sending chilling shocks throughout her body. Daphne didn't even register the fact that she was sobbing on the floor, only just remembering that night. A few people rushed towards her, intent on trying to calm her down but she shook them off. As undignified as she had been acting, as uncouth as she felt laying on the floor even for an instance, she would finish this. If nothing else, for him.

Daphne glanced, her eyes soaked with more tears towards the casket before she stood up again, ready to speak. The crowd was abuzz once more. Daphne couldn't tell what the people were saying, though she could probably make a guess.

"My apologies," she said with as much sincerity as she could muster. Her emotions were a constant stream the poured through her. It was incredibly frustrating, to feel everything at once. The crowd's mistrust. The pressures of upholding her upbringing. Harry. In that moment Daphne reached an epiphany as she wiped away her tears and continued to speak.

"While I can't say that it had been the safest or the most peaceful time, the past year where I have been with Harry has certainly been the most interesting of times that I have ever had." Daphne looked around, lingering momentarily at Dumbledore's face, where his eyes had narrowed a fraction.

"I'm going to be honest, Harry and I didn't get along that well all the time. He doesn't listen when I'm trying to help him. He frustrates me often, either by not understanding something that seems so simple or simply goofing off when he could be studying harder. For Merlin's sake, he was in a deadly competition!"

The crowd was now silent, not expecting to hear this. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed another fraction, which Daphne barely caught. He had advised her to speak as positively about Harry as possible just before the proceedings. She clearly didn't do what he expected. Daphne took a breath and looked towards the entire crowd before her. With a small smile, she continued.

"Despite all that, waking up every morning to the thought of him, what we would be doing that day, or just wondering how he would have messed up what I had tried to get him to learn or whatever… It was some of the best times of my life."

Daphne felt as though a large weight had been lifted off her chest as she said this. She looked around to Tracey, who gave her a thumb's up in tandem with that irritating look that the brunette would have when she knew she was right (and Daphne was wrong). It was strangely liberating to have expressed that feeling, even with the tears that accompanied her words. Everything she said was true, even if she was embarrassed to admit it. It was strange, that Harry Potter had become so integral to her life in those few months. Daphne however didn't have it in her to care as she made her way back to her seat next to Tracey.

"Good job Daph!" Tracey said brightly, clapping her best friend lightly on the back. Daphne shot the brunette a glare.

"I need my tea," she mumbled. Daphne felt her face redden considerably as the full weight of what she had essentially just broadcasted to the world hit her. Tracey laughed monotonously.

"Aw, cheer up. See, I told you to just say what you really felt, not whatever 'pure-blood' crap that your father or Dumbledore would have wanted you to say. Catharsis, am I right?"

Daphne looked away, unwilling to fully concede defeat. The crowd around them suddenly increased its rowdiness, piquing Daphne's interest as she looked towards the front. A large, well-groomed black hound had come from the forest and had been making its way onto the stage. Some people started pointing at it, comparing the large dog to that of a Grim. The whispers escalated as people began to panic at the mention of the most feared omen of death in the Merlinian Wizarding World. Several people had already stood up, ready to leave before the dog got to the center of the stage.

"Isn't that…" Tracey whispered. Daphne nodded with wide eyes as the dog began to change shape. Sleek canine fur receded into a well-toned body, the velvety muzzle turning into a darkly handsome, yet very familiar visage. A paw turned into a strong hand, with a black colored ring on it. The crowd gasped in recognition. A few people fainted. Many screamed. Almost everyone else drew their wands.

"Now, now," Sirius said, raising both hands in surrender, a youthful smirk on his face. "I didn't come here to get killed." Sirius chuckled tonelessly, hoping that he had eased the tension slightly. Unsuccessful, he sighed softly before he continued. In a flash, the youthful expression that he had maintained vanished, leaving a cold, taciturn gaze.

"My name is Sirius Orion, Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black as signified by this ring."

* * *

 _ **Next Time: Commencement**_


	5. Chapter 5 - Commencement

" _Text"_ – Thoughts

" **Text"** – Spellcast

" _Text"_ – Non-English Words

 _Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does_

 _ **Chapter 5 – Commencement**_

* * *

 _Date: Friday, September 1_ _st_ _1995_

 _Location: Greengrass Manor_

The month after Harry Potter's funeral proved to be one of the most hectic in recent British history, only surpassed by the months directly after You-Know-Who's demise on Halloween on 1981 and the month immediately after last year's Quidditch World Cup, where the Ministry had to simultaneously deal with the backlash from the end of the end of said final, the upcoming Triwizard Tournament, as well as the loss of one of the most prominent Wizengamot Lords in Kayneth of House Archibald, who died under mysterious circumstances around that time as well.

Though incomparable to those times, the apparent extinction of one of the most well-known families and the 'legal' revival of another was enough to cause immense frustrations to everyone involved in the matter. In the former case, while the Potter family had lost it Noble status almost a century ago from the then Lord Potter's rather outspoken views on the muggle conflict now called 'World War I', the family remained highly regarded by the general populace.

There was also the matter of the various properties that the family owned across the British Isles and beyond. Usually, it would have been as simple as sending an official or two to deactivate any magical systems in place and retrieve any magical artefacts that the family owned. Strangely, no official could even step within the preliminary wards of any of the former Potter estates, as though the security systems put in place were still in full effect … which handily lead to the other problem that the Ministry faced.

Sirius Orion Black, a name notorious throughout Britain not only as the name of a crazed mass murderer but also as one of the most promising upcoming aurors of his day. The man's reappearance at Harry Potter's funeral a month ago had almost caused an immediate media outburst as the man had calmly surrendered himself to the veritable legion of aurors and hit-wizards that had arrived on scene. While many were ready to execute the infamous murderer on the spot, Black quickly produced a letter from Gringotts that he had received, detailing that he was the current steward of the various Potter lands, as decreed by Harry Potter's will.

An immediate Wizengamot conference was held to discuss the issues, leading to one of the single most divisive discussions that had taken place inside the grand hall. Families who had been allies for years turned against one another as the debate stretched from the fundamentals of magic, to ethics and even if muggle murder was considered on par with the murder of magicals, the latter which magic itself considered as an absolute sin. Even Albus Dumbledore, with all his composure and poise seemed somewhat divided by the whole mess. It was only until Mad-eye Moody barged into the hall vouching for his former student did the Wizengamot agree at the very least to try the newly anointed Lord Black 'again'.

The days that followed began with a surprising representation of Lord Black by his former schoolmate Kirsten Davis née Marchbanks, who shocked the entire room when she revealed that the man had not ever undergone a trial before he was sent to Azkaban almost fourteen years prior. With a show of her Slytherin ingenuity, Kirsten deflected almost all blame to the late Barty Crouch Senior and later pressed her advantage in the surprisingly short trial to clear her client of all charges, save for a few thefts that had been revealed in Lord Black's Veritaserum induced confessions.

Leaving the room, many of the Wizengamot were somewhat irritated that the 'uncouth brat' had claimed the prestigious title of Lord Black, a number of whom had potential claims to. Others griped about the issue of securing an alliance with the maverick that Sirius Black was known to be.

As dozens of other lords and ladies across the country pondered the implications, others succinctly urged their Hogwarts-attending kin to keep awareness of a certain pair of Slytherins. After all, if Kirsten Marchbanks of all people was working with the new Lord Black, it was easy to assume that her best friend, a certain Lord Greengrass's wife, was also involved.

A loud sound erupted in the Greengrass Manor's dining hall as said man and wife apparated rather loudly back into their house, narrowly escaping the hordes of parents, reporters and other people who had swarmed them as they were wishing Daphne and Astoria well onto their year at Hogwarts.

"Are you tired?" asked a concerned Genevieve as she looked towards her husband. Cyril looked amusedly at his wife.

"I believe those were the first words I ever spoke to you. In a similar context too, if memory serves," he said with a small chuckle. Eve frowned and let go of his outstretched arm.

"Your mind is as impeccable as ever, Lord Greengrass," she said with feigned irritation. Physically, she smiled gently at the memory.

"Only when it concerns important matters," muttered the man, as he surveyed his surroundings. He almost winced at the effect his badly controlled apparation which had manifested as though a large gust of wind had expelled outward when the couple returned haphazardly, missing the entrance hall which Cyril had been aiming at. The Greengrass lord frowned as he looked at his wife.

"Most other pureblood lords would have executed any person with the temerity to affect said lords' magic in any manner," he said with a hint of threat. Eve was unperturbed, giving her husband a lofty look.

"If anything, I increased your magical ability," she reminded as she too looked at the surroundings. "Besides, the link is your _punishment_ for all but giving our daughter to someone." Cyril had the sense to look apologetic as his wife gazed heatedly at him. It was rather pointless to argue against her, as he had found across the year. Accepting to co-test out her most recent invention was his way of apologizing.

The Greengrass looked away from his irritated wife, careful to not even think a thought out of line. "What kind of fool would think that being shackled to you would be considered a punishment?" he thought aloud. His wife smirked.

"Oh, you," she replied. Her gaze had softened greatly. "Besides, it gives you something to work on, my dear master duellist." A cheeky smile was sent in the man's way, who sighed gently. It was impossible to be mad at her for long.

"I suppose," Cyril grumbled as he thought back to the horde of people who had tried to speak to him on King's Cross platform. He had already greatly acclimated to the situation that he had been put in, enough that no-one he worked with suspected anything to the contrary. A pop came from a few feet behind him.

"Oh my!" came the squeaky voice of Tizzy, one of the few house-elves that worked for the Greengrasses at their manor.

"Tizzy, could you please clean up the mess? Also send a memo to the Committee on Experimental Charms please, informing them that I will be a little late," Eve asked politely. The house elf paused for a moment before he bowed deeply and quickly popped away, leaving his two human masters alone in the dining hall. Cyril looked humorously at his wife.

"Really, love? Couldn't you have been more subtle?" he asked, having difficulty holding back a laugh. Eve smirked, turning around and letting her hair swish around.

"Come on," she said coyly "We have a few things to test out". Cyril shook his head amusedly as followed his wife.

* * *

 _Location: Hogwarts Express_

Daphne felt a shiver down her spine suddenly as she felt an irresistible urge to want to vomit. Her expression apparently was quite amusing as Tracey took one look at her retching friend and began giggling uncontrollably. Daphne sent a look in her friend's direction, who had now proceeded to outright laughter.

"You look like you've seen a ghost!" Tracey said between peals of laughter. Daphne frowned as she gazed out the window, looking at the landscape. The train had just departed not too long ago and had just reached the outskirts of London.

"I sense a disturbance in magic…" Daphne muttered darkly. This just made Tracey laugh even harder and Daphne looked irritatedly at her friend. She glanced towards the door outside the carriage they were seated in, arching an eyebrow at the latest person to try and enter. Her parents had of course warned her about keeping vigilance as a part of the aftermath of Lord Black's 'appointment'. Her parents had not divulged any further than that, though Daphne was able to infer enough information to come up with a somewhat rational view of the situation.

Upon arriving at the carriage, Daphne had put a selective screening charm on the door, as was well within her bounds as heiress presumptive of House Greengrass. This however did not dissuade no less than a dozen different people trying to get into the carriage which gave Tracey various levels of amusement. Daphne on the other hand was merely irritated at how foolhardy some of these people were. At least Longbottom had enough sense to just examine the barrier for a few moments before leaving.

Daphne frowned and pointed her wand at the door, allowing Sophie Roper to step into the room.

"What is it, Roper?" she asked somewhat huffily. Tracey gave the dark-haired girl a cheerful greeting in tandem. Uncharacteristically, Sophie merely nodded grimly as she pulled out a piece of parchment.

"I was _asked_ to give you this," Sophie replied. Daphne quickly took the parchment and immediately her eyes narrowed at the crest of a pair of fish upon a stone slab. Daphne briefly skimmed the message before burning it with the Conflagration Spell.

"Are you a part of Parkinson's pack of dogs now?" Daphne asked icily. Sophie returned the look with equal coldness.

"I am a neutral party in this madness," she replied quickly, glancing at the door before turning back to Daphne and Tracey. "Parkinson thought that you would much more likely receive a neutral messenger rather than one of her own. If that's all, I'll be leaving now."

Sophie took a step towards the door before she was stopped by Tracey.

"Sophie, what's wrong?" she asked concerned. The dark-haired girl bristled momentarily.

"You'll see in a little," she muttered lowly, exiting the compartment with silent steps.

In the compartment next door, Neville watched somewhat surprised at the retreating figure of Sophie Roper almost colliding with the food cart that was going in the opposite direction. Neville had sat here after concluding that he would have been unable to speak to his fellow heir presumptive when he looked at the barrier that Daphne had erected. Deciding to cut his losses, he supposed that catching her as they left the train would be the best opportunity.

The boy frowned at his lack of 'progress' in gathering more people for their little group. He figured that the Greengrass heiress would be an ideal choice for the group, as she was almost as smart as Hermione and also had access to materials that the Hogwarts libraries didn't have. Judging by what Harry was able to do during the tournament last year, Daphne was also more likely to be willing to cooperate with them, at least more so than most of his other 'options'.

Sally Anne-Perks, eldest niece of Lady Antonia Anne-Perks, had shut him down coldly before he even got a word in. It seemed that the proud Ravenclaw had not forgotten when Neville had accidentally set her robes on fire all those years ago when they were first learning the Bluebell Flames Charm.

At least he had more luck with Ernest Macmillan, who had heartily agreed to the proposal and even dragged his friend Justin Finch-Fletchley along with him, much to Neville's surprise. He later learnt that the two had been somewhat closer friends with Harry than most realized and wanted to honor his memory in any way they could. Unfortunately, Ernest, or rather Ernie as the boy preferred, wouldn't be able to help much in the material aspect. The Macmillans were known warlocks and battlemages, with not as much to offer in terms of Defence Against the Dark Arts or Charms. On the other hand, Ernie assured Neville that he would pass on the message to his cousin which Neville took with grace.

Now all he could do was wait a while before Hermione and Ron made it back from their meeting with the other prefects. He glanced at his birthday present, a sample of Mimbulus Mimbletonia given to him by his Uncle Algie. The plant resembled a bubotuber crossed with a cactus, with various protrusions all across it's light green body. It produced a pungent smell, which thankfully was nullified by the runic field that Neville's Gran had placed when she discovered the plant.

"If you keep poking it, you'll send sap flying everywhere," Neville said suddenly. The girl who had been poking at a particularly large protrusion smiled dreamily at him.

"I can feel the presence of Nargles so I'm trying to ward them away," Luna Lovegood replied in her whimsically sing-song voice.

Neville stared blankly at the girl who had returned to prodding his precious plant. He blinked a few times before looking away. Luna was, for the lack of a better term, as looney as her name would imply. The dreamy, almost ethereal look in her eyes would be considered pretty by many if it were not for how dotty she looked. This, coupled with the many rumors that surrounded Luna, drove away almost everyone from her, leaving the poor girl isolated.

Neville shook his head and cast his eyes towards the other person in the compartment. Ginny Weasley stared aimlessly out of the window, her eyes unfocused her posture limp. To say the formerly vibrant and energetic redhead was a shadow of her former self would be to put it lightly. The girl looked almost lifeless, as though she had died alongside Harry Potter all that time ago.

Neville couldn't help but feel sorry for the girl he had gone to the Yule Ball last year. A feeling of frustrating helplessness also struck him as he found himself completely lost as to how he could help the girl. Ron hadn't said much but to simply watch over her before he and Hermione returned for their meeting.

Neville sighed a short sigh as he remembered Ron's face. The redheaded boy never really showed much emotion, at least to Neville, but the serious blankness that was displayed on his face was truly surreal, almost as though a certain blonde's signature scowl had been copied and pasted onto Ron's face.

Hermione wasn't faring any better, even Neville was beginning to see the cracks in her shamelessly cheerful façade. Not that he could blame them though. Seeing his paternal grandfather's death had been terrifying for the young three-year-old Neville, a sight that he would probably remember for the rest of his life. Even then he got off easier as he hadn't been particularly close to old Antares Longbottom. Through both experiences, Neville could sympathise with what his friends were going through.

The door swung open abruptly, sending Neville tumbling out of his thoughts, revealing a rather irritated Hermione and sullen Ron.

"Hey guys–" Neville began as Hermione plopped herself unceremoniously next to him. He nervously shifted a few inches away, unconsciously noting the expression on her face.

"Well, there are two prefects for each house," Hermione said as Ron quietly sat down. "One boy and one girl each."

No-one spoke, so Hermione continued her speech.

"Guess who the two Slytherin prefects are?" Hermione said sourly. Neville felt his stomach drop unpleasantly. For Hermione to speak so viciously, the choice was obvious.

"Malfoy," Neville replied quietly. The boy had caused an innumerable about of problems for the blond heir to House Longbottom over the years. While he had almost gotten used to the insults and jeers, Neville had begun noticing how the ponce and his cronies had been acting to those in the younger years. It was sickening, a feeling made worse by Neville's inability to help them.

"And that complete cow Pansy Parkinson," Hermione continued with even more distaste. Neville looked somewhat surprised.

"I thought that Greengrass would have made the cut…" he mused. From the little he knew about the Slytherins in their year, he rationalized that the academically gifted blonde would have been more likely as a candidate.

Hermione snorted. "As much as I hate admitting it, Greengrass would have been a much better option. At the very least, she isn't as thick as a concussed troll." Neville was slightly taken aback by the energetic dismissal that the bushy haired bookworm had uttered. Deciding to change the subject, Neville turned to Ron.

"Who're the Hufflepuffs?" he asked. Ron looked up at him.

"Macmillan and Abbot. Goldstein and Patil for Ravenclaw." Neville blinked. It certainly was Ron's voice coming from his mouth but the tone was so dull that it may as well have come from Gregory Goyle.

"I like Padma, she's nice," interrupted an ethereal voice.

The whole room looked to Luna, who had stopped poking the Mimblus Mimbletonia. Ron seemed to recognize her slightly, offering a slight incline in response. The girl smiled widely before she retreated back to reading the copy of the Quibbler that she had been reading between her intermitted poking of the cactus. Neville looked back at his fellow year-mates.

"How did your summer go, Ron?" he asked.

"Nothing much, my brother Bill taught me a few things I guess," Ron replied with a gentle shrug, displaying the first bit of emotion that Neville had seen.

"I see…" he replied as he turned to Hermione. The girl had been staring at the wall, almost seemingly trying to look through it and look into the next compartment. Ron on the other hand was staring blankly out the door towards the corridor. Neville felt a distinct tension in the air, as though they both wanted to say something but were goading the other to act first. The girl snapped first.

"Why them, Ron?" Hermione asked with a barely levelled tone. The redheaded boy gave her a look. It was clear that this conversation had already occurred more than once.

"Greengrass and Tracey helped Harry and I a lot last year," he explained flatly. Hermione simply looked irritated.

"Well we still don't need their help!" she replied with a slightly raised voice. Ron shrugged.

"If we're trying to make a group to study, or get back at the Ministry or whatever it is you are planning, we should probably go to the best of us right?" Ron replied. Neville was surprised to listen to Ron's defence of the Slytherin girls. The redhead's hatred for the snakes was quite infamous, even if tales of his rants had lessened considerably over the past year. Hermione too seemed to have similar thoughts.

"How can we trust them, Ron? Did you know that they were there that night? When Harry–" Hermione stopped mid-sentence as she froze in shock. Tears welled up in her eyes as her mind unwittingly drifted back to the topic she had been doing her best to avoid.

"Yes actually," came the quiet reply. Ron looked up, his face stony and unyielding. A few stray tears had formed, flowing down his face like small streams. "Tracey wrote to me the day she got out of St. Mungo's." He clearly didn't want to speak more.

Neville watched the silence return as the two close friends glared at the wall beyond each other. He felt ashamed once more, feeling that it was his fault for introducing this idea in the first place.

"Um… guys?" he asked timidly. Hermione snapped back around, putting on a façade that Neville could see was fabricated.

"What do you think Neville? Should we invite Greengrass or Tracey to our group?" Neville gulped as he was rounded upon. He looked to the other two people in the compartment, where Luna was deeply engross with reading her copy of _The Quibbler_ upside-down while Ginny was still staring out the window, neither being any help.

"Erm…" Neville fidgeted. From the events that had happened at the funeral, Neville too pieced together that the two Slytherins were indeed present at Little Whinging, though for what purpose was unknown. Deep down, he wanted to know more about what happened, what had happened to his friend that night, which was one of the reasons he had wanted to speak with the min the first place.

"… I think we should, you know, at least ask them? It wouldn't hurt right?" Neville said, chuckling nervously. "If Harry dated one of them, they can't be that bad right?" Hermione looked upset but bowed her head. Ron seemed to have not much of a reaction other than his eyes darting towards where their trunks had been stored.

"Fine, we can talk to them," Hermione agreed reluctantly. "I don't think they'd have the time to though." Seeing no major reaction from either of her year-mates, Hermione simply continued. "Malfoy and Parkinson seemed a little on edge during the prefect meeting, I also overheard the cow utter Greengrass's name, so I think something might be up."

Neville nodded in realization. _"So that's what that barrier was about,"_ he thought. It also explained Sophie Roper's appearance a while ago. Neville knew very little about the Slytherins themselves and Sophie herself, in particular, behaved very much as a wallflower. The little Neville had been able to figure out about the wily witch pointed to her being uninvolved in most inter-house disputes. Which did not discount an intra-house problem, as rare as that was. Slytherin House prided itself on its unified front and rarely in history had allowed anyone uninvolved know about the conflict until long after it had concluded.

A sudden rush of activity appeared outside the compartment as a group of six people quickly walked past. Neville's eyes widened as he recognized the signature blond hair of Draco Malfoy. Ron pulled out something from his pocket. It resembled a flesh cord with two human ear-like appendages attached to it.

"Fred and George gave me a few of these Extendable Ears, said they could be useful," he explained. Without more explanation, Ron tossed one end of the device out of the room and into the next. Hermione looked surprised.

"Wouldn't Greengrass's barrier keep that thing from getting in?" she asked. Ron shrugged.

"The twins say that they have made some improvements. With some luck, the snakes won't notice." Hermione looked a mixture of surprise and worry but shook her head. She too was curious about what was going on with the Slytherins and didn't feel the need to look a gift horse in the mouth quite yet.

* * *

Daphne lazily undid the charm at the door to let the group of her housemates into the compartment. Crabbe and Goyle predictably stood at the door, standing guard as Malfoy had probably instructed. In entered Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, Sophie Roper and…

With a slightly surprised expression, the blonde watched as Theodore Nott walked into the compartment as well, sitting beside Draco on the opposite side of the compartment that Tracey and Daphne had been seated. Daphne looked at the boy for a few seconds, her gaze turning icier and icier. The door mostly closed behind him, widened by only a fraction of an inch.

"I see." Theo offered no response.

"Reapply the charm Greengrass," Parkinson said impatiently. "We haven't got all day."

Daphne shot a look at the other heiress but did as she asked, refortifying the compartment with a wave of her wand. The door glowed a golden hue, signifying the successful application of the charm. Tracey fidgeted a fraction, an action that went unnoticed by everyone.

"I'm honoured that you place so much trust in my spellwork, scion Parkinson," Daphne said with as little sarcasm as she could muster. Parkinson's gaze thinned but ignored it.

"First of all, the oaths of silence," she said, drawing her wand. The other five drew their wands, Daphne and Tracey a little slower than the others.

"I swear on my magic to not communicate any of what is stated in this room to anyone not involved in the matter," Parkinson said clearly, her face as cold as stone. A purple hazy stream came from her outstretched wand, hovering almost lazily in the middle of the group. Draco too outstretched his wand, looking noticeably less confident that the Parkinson heiress. However, he too made the oath. The other people in the compartment followed suit, adding their own magic to the oath until it had become an indistinguishable mass of multi-coloured fog. When Tracey had finished her swear, Parkinson pointed her wand at the mass again.

"Forsooth I swear, so mote it be," she finished. The others echoed her words. When the last syllable was uttered, a blinding light filled the room for a few moments.

Daphne looked somewhat warily at the people sitting opposite her. Draco was hiding his discomfort well but Daphne could see his unwillingness to be here. His father had probably warned him against making an enemy of one of those who may have a handle on the Black fortune, she supposed. Unfortunately for him, his occlumency training, or lack thereof, appeared was showing.

"So why did you call us all here, scion Parkinson" Daphne said with a hint of arrogance. Parkinson glared at her.

"Roper obviously delivered the letter I had written, Greengrass, so cease the rudeness if you can." Daphne's lack of reaction did not appear to faze the other heiress, who instead reached into a pouch that she had apparently carried into the room with her. Daphne was instantly wary, redrawing her wand at the sight of Pansy dipping her hand into the pouch. A slightly amused chuckle greeted her steely gaze.

"Relax, Greengrass, I gave you my word that I would respect the laws of parley," the black-haired girl said, pulling out a silver sheet of parchment. Daphne did not recognize the sheet, though it seemed that both Sophie and Tracey did at a moment's glance, given by their unconscious fidgeting. Daphne's eyes narrowed.

"Do you know what this is?" Parkinson asked in her insufferably haughty tone. Daphne did not have any time to answer as Tracey spoke up in her place.

" _Talium Tabula,_ " she murmured with a hint of awe. Daphne frowned but recognized the name. 'Talium Tabula', or Thoth's tablet, is a type of magic-infused papyrus that supposedly first given to the ancient Egyptians by the god Thoth, hence the name. Despite being an over two-thousand-year-old magical-construct that has been outclassed by relatively recent inventions such as the Unbreakable Vow, the Talium Tabula is used for extended magical contracts … which did not explain why Parkinson had brought one.

"An Unbreakable Vow would be simpler, Parkinson, surely you had thought of that," Daphne said with a sniff, finally deciding to forgo her feigned politeness. The girl in question shot Daphne an irritated look.

"The limitations to the vow are too severe, hence this would be more suitable for our use." Daphne held back her snort. The more likely explanation would have been simply that Parkinson was simply was unable to cast such a complicated spell.

"Are we to agree on rules to our … conflict … then?" Theo muttered. Daphne was surprised, shooting the boy a quick look. Theo didn't react visibly to the look, instead simply staring into the wall in front of him, avoiding Sophie's gaze. Ignoring the weedy boy, Daphne looked back at Parkinson, who had set up a golden dictaquill on the now levitating sheet. Golden letters spelled out the words 'Slytherin House 98th Rite of Dominance'

"Tradition, Theodore," Parkinson replied in a cool tone. Daphne raised an eyebrow as she turned fully towards the Parkinson heiress. Her gaze grew colder and colder as she seemingly began to drop the temperature of the air around her.

"What tradition, Parkinson? Surely you are not suggesting that our predecessors had 'rules' for their conflicts?" Daphne asked with an uncharacteristic sneer. Pansy didn't even look in Daphne's direction as she motioned for the quill to write down the first line below the title. In bold, gaudy letters it now read: 'No use of magicks that will affect those beyond persons directly involved in the rite.' Daphne's gaze softened a fraction as Pansy looked at her.

"After that embarrassment last year, I looked into your sister," Pansy muttered softly. "For what it's worth, my deepest regrets." Daphne's hostile gaze returned in full force for a few moments before she allowed her occlumency shields to calm herself. The blonde bowed her head a fraction.

A sudden sound came from beside Pansy as Draco shifted suddenly, colliding slightly with Theo. His mouth was agape as he stared looked between the silvery sheet and Parkinson, seemingly connecting a few dots.

"So that's why father…" he murmured quietly. Daphne turned her gaze towards the other blond, who was now staring at the sheet with a modicum of disgust. Uncomfortable and still somewhat irritated, Daphne turned back to Pansy.

"So what other 'rules' do you wish to apply," Daphne asked with as little emotion as she could muster. Pansy looked at her rival.

"Any breach of the House's code of conduct will be considered forfeit," she replied. Daphne agreed and the quill wrote down the words.

"Weasley twins are off-limits," Theo supplied as soon as the quill stopped. Both girls froze for a moment before both agreeing fervently. The pair were a wildcard, too dangerous a card to leave lying around. That much Daphne could agree on. Tracey moved slightly next to Daphne, barely suppressing a fit of giggles.

"Anything else?" Parkinson asked as the quill stopped again. All was silent for a few moments before Sophie piped up.

"Zabini," she said.

The whole room felt like it had dropped a few degrees in temperature. Icy tempers flared as the other three girls in the room were reminded of the incident back in their second year. Draco and Theo wisely edged slightly away from the girls as they felt each person's wrath. Theo looked towards Sophie, who had a hollow smile on her face.

"Was that necessary?" he asked quietly. Sophie spared him a single glance, her face dropping for a single instant before she looked back at the Talium Tabula. Another golden line was written in accordance with Daphne and Pansy's agreement.

"Is. That. All," grunted Pansy in a surprisingly Vincent or Gregory like fashion. The look on her face screamed pure murder. Daphne's expression was similarly dark, though she was able to mask her anger better. The blonde nodded stiffly, causing the silver scroll to furl itself back up. Pansy looked at Sophie with as little disgust as she could muster as the half-blooded girl drew her wand.

" **Gemino Duo"** she muttered softly. Two physically identical copy of the scroll manifested themselves beside the original scroll. Sophie took ahold of them and gave one copy each to Daphne and Pansy. The girl looked dirtily at the two heiresses, sighing gently before speaking.

"Are we done here? Or do you to want to formally declare war on one another?" Pansy looked strangely at her fellow dark-haired girl.

"Of course not, half-blood," she said as courteously as possible. Daphne redrew her wand, removing the charm on the door as her rival stood up.

"Next time we meet, prepare for you defeat. _Familia Officium Honos_ ," Pansy said tersely, devoid of her usual arrogance or smugness. Daphne looked back impassively.

"To you as well, scion Parkinson," she replied with her usual iciness. Pansy left without another word as Draco followed suit. Sophie rushed out the door as soon as the pair had left, leaving not a shadow of her presence remaining. Theo too stood up, not looking at the two remaining people in the compartment. He took a few steps to the door but stopped before he had exited. He stood still for a few moments, as though he were contemplating something.

" _Nos Metere quod non Seruerimus_ ," he said after a while. Daphne blinked.

"Those are my words, not yours, traitor," she said with a hint of hostility. Theo glanced back, a carefree glint in his eye.

"So they are. Good day to you too, scion Greengrass." With those parting words, Theo left the compartment and thus leaving Daphne and Tracey alone in the room. A few seconds passed before Daphne drew her wand again. She pointed it at the floor close to the door.

" **Accio Device,"** she muttered. A sudden rush of air occured as the invisible object rushed towards Daphne's wand. A surprised yelp could be heard from the adjacent compartment as Daphne yanked at the object she had just caught.

"Now what do we have here," she murmured with a level of irritation. Tracey fidgeted slightly as Daphne seemingly pulled something from midair, revealing an ear-like device and a cloak of silvery material. The blonde looked somewhat irritatedly between the two objects in her hands before glancing over at Tracey, who looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"Bloody lions!" she cursed. Without looking, she jabbed her wand at the door, slamming it shut and reactivating the privacy wards on the door already. Daphne glared at her best friend, who looked slightly sheepish at the sight of the strange ear-like contraption.

"What is this?" Daphne asked with faux calmness. Tracey looked at the blonde for a moment before sighing. Deciding that beating around the bush would do no good, the brunette simply answered as directly as she could.

"It's something that Ron's brothers made called an 'Extendable Ear'. I guess its name explains what it does…" Daphne frowned and examined the contraption in hand. Grudgingly, she had to admire the painstaking lengths that the Weasley twins had gone to while making the device. She looked back at Tracey.

"And perchance, how did you come across this information?" Tracey averted her gaze for a moment. Daphne could see the indecision in her eyes rapidly fading as the girl looked back towards her.

"Yes, actually," Tracey said with surprising force. The defiance in her posture and tone was surprising to Daphne. Her light blue eyes shone with a vigor that she had grown accustomed to see in their Gryffindor friends' eyes. Bravery.

"Ron told me when I told him we would probably have a meeting with Parkinson and her camp today." Having already deduced this much, Daphne hid her small smile by re-examining the ear. Daphne drew her wand and pointed it at the device.

" **Specialis Revelio!"**

When nothing happened, Daphne looked surprised. She looked at the ear and its cord once more spotting a small red spot on the almost unblemished surface. With a frown, she looked back at Tracey.

"I'm assuming this … thing … is the reason why my wards did not affect the ear?" she asked. Tracey nodded.

"A shard of the Gae Dearg, affects anything stronger than a summoner. Sorry I couldn't have told you in advance or Parkinson or Malfoy would have noticed something wrong." Daphne couldn't help but smile bemusedly at that statement.

"Well then, I would appreciate if you removed that from the device. I have a feeling that it could be useful." Daphne looked at the silvery cloak beside her. Tracey seemed to have just noticed the cloak, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Isn't that Harry's cloak?" she asked. Daphne nodded.

"I had a feeling that he gave it to Weasley, smart of him to really," Daphne said. An amount of sadness filled her but she quickly brushed it off. It wouldn't do to lose focus of what was important, now more than ever.

"Are you planning on keeping it then?" Tracey asked quietly. Daphne shook her head. As much as she would have liked to, she owed it to Harry to return his family cloak to the one he had bestowed it upon. Let it be known that Daphne Greengrass was an honourable lady.

"I suppose it means that I will have to talk to the eavesdroppers next door at some point…" muttered Daphne with a small amount of irritation. Tracey blinked and sighed.

"You do you, Daph. You do you."

* * *

The next few hours passed rather quietly, which provided Daphne with a period of solace. Tracey had grown rather quiet, very different from her usual increasing bubbliness as they approached the school. Taking the chance, Daphne began reviewing her spellwork, both for the upcoming academic year and in preparation for the battles to come. Fortunately, the Gryffindors next door were wise enough to not disturb Daphne's work.

Before long, the sun had begun to set, signalling for the girls to get ready to get off the train. With practised ease, the pair quickly changed into their school robes and readied themselves to leave… by staying seated. As they felt the Hogwarts Express grind to a halt, the clamour of their fellow students jostling their way to the carriages that would take them to the castle.

"Now?" asked an impatient Tracey. The brunette was getting slightly impatient, her leg shaking absentmindedly as she looked out the dark window. With only torchlight illuminating the area around them, it was quite difficult to see far beyond the station.

Without a sound, Daphne gracefully got up. Tracey sighed in relief as she too leapt up and quickly followed her friend through the door. As expected, the station was virtually void of people. Even the ships carrying the first years across the black lake had already departed. A few lonely carriages could be seen in the distance.

Daphne and Tracey took a few steps towards the carriages when they began to hear multiple pairs of footsteps coming from behind them. Tracey stopped and turned around but Daphne kept going, fully aware of who those footsteps belonged to.

"Greengrass!"

Daphne resisted the urge to groan and turned around to face the somewhat breathless visages of Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom.

"Yes, Granger? What you want?" she asked with as little stiffness as she could. Daphne was still a little sore from the embarrassment that the bushy haired girl had inflicted on her during the funeral. As good of an awakening it had been for her, Daphne was still unwilling to fully forgive the Gryffindor, particularly because of that slap.

Seeing as Hermione didn't answer, Ron instead walked up to the blonde. He looked blankly at Daphne, in a manner that seemed as though he were sizing her up. The look on the usually explosively expressive redhead was almost unnerving to Daphne, who had grown accustomed to being able to easily read the boy.

"May I have the cloak back please, Lady Greengrass?" he asked. Daphne blinked.

"I'm no lady yet, Weasley. At best I am heiress presumptive, or just scion," she replied offhandedly. Inwardly, she was beginning to get worried. What on earth had happened to Ronald Weasley that …

Pushing that thought out of her mind, Daphne quickly retrieved the cloak from her pouch and handed it to Ron, who stowed it away with a simple thank you.

"Not going to ask for your toy back? Weasley?" Daphne asked in a slightly taunting manner. Ron shrugged.

"You can keep it. It's not like you're going to give it back anyways," he answered. Daphne blinked again before quickly turning to glance at her best friend, who was doing her best to look innocent. Slightly flustered, Daphne quickly turned.

"If there is nothing now, I would like to quickly return to the castle. The Scottish Highlands are rather cold for a person like myself," she said quickly as she began making a beeline for the carriages.

"Wait, Greengrass!" Longbottom shouted. Daphne paid it no mind, wanting to get away from the Gryffindors before more embarrassment could arise. However, her plans soon literally fell flat as she crashed into something invisible, knocking her to the ground.

"What in the…" muttered a dazed Daphne. Tracey and the Gryffindors had jogged over to where Daphne lay.

"I warned you, Greengrass," Longbottom said infuriatingly. "Can't you see the thestral standing here?"

Daphne groaned as she began to stand up. Suddenly she froze in place.

"Wait, what did you say?" she asked slowly. Longbottom looked at her owlishly.

"Can't you see the thestral? It's just standing right here?" he said, gesturing to air in front of him. A few moments of silence as Daphne processed the information she had received. From behind her, Tracey gasped in shock.

"I… I can't see it either…" Tracey said slowly. From the sound of the other gasp, it appeared that Granger had also come to the same realization.

"Only those who have seen death can see his horses…" Granger quoted. Daphne nodded with some shock still evident on her face. If she couldn't see the thestrals, there was only one explanation.

* * *

 _Date: ?_

 _Location: ?_

A blinding white void. That was all that a pair of bleary eyes could see as they stared for miles around. Nothing but blankness. The boy twitched gently, sending a multitude of painful spasms throughout his muscular system. He tried to cry out to no avail, for no sound came from his voice. And so, he simply lay there, still as a board, wondering where he had ended up.

" _Oh great, Daphne's going to kill me for this…"_ Harry Potter idly thought.

* * *

 _Spells Used/Mentioned:_

 _Ambustum – Conflagration Spell_

 _Ignio Frigum – Bluebell Flames Charm_

 _Gemino – Duplication Charm/Curse_

 _Accio – Summoning Charm_

 _ **Next Time: Brightest Day**_


	6. Chapter 6 - Brightest Day

" _Text"_ – Thoughts

" **Text"** – Spellcast

" _Text"_ – Non-English Words

 _Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 6 – Brightest Day**_

 _Date: ?_

 _Location: ?_

When Harry re-awoke, he tried moving his body slightly again. Through still quite apparent, Harry could feel that his body hurt far less than it had when he had first awoken. With some difficulty, the boy sat up. It was around this moment where he realized that he was naked for some odd reason. However, with no-one around (or anything to cover himself with anyway), Harry made no more thoughts in that direction.

He shakily got to his feet and tried to look around. The sheer whiteness of the void around him was unnerving to say the least. The ground beneath him, if you could call it that, was neither hot nor cold. The air seemed to be still, yet not in any capacity stale, nor fresh. It was as though nothing was there.

Harry blinked as he tentatively took a step forward. While still aching, Harry was able to persevere through without too much difficulty. His years of playing Quidditch, as well as all the training he had done for the tournament last year, had done wonders for his pain tolerance. Harry took a few more steps as he looked around once more.

" _Where am I?"_ he wondered. He had absolutely no idea where he was, certainly having never been, or even imagined such a strange place. With nothing around him, Harry had a choice to make, one that was simultaneously simple yet mind-bogglingly difficult.

Which direction to travel?

With nothing to lose, Harry shrugged gently and began walking forward, hoping for the best.

* * *

After what felt like hours, Harry felt himself collapse onto the ground. His aching body had caught up to him, forcing him to take a break. For brief moments in his trek, Harry could have sworn that he had seen something in the distance. A temple with a number of clocks? A train station? Unfortunately, as Harry edged closer to those structures, they seemed to fade away like mirages in a desert.

Harry grit his teeth as he stood back up. Despite not knowing what was ahead, or even if there was anything in the direction he was going, Harry was not going to stop. No matter how hopeless, no matter how dire the odds seemed, Harry knew that he had to stand strong and keep walking. He could 'feel' it in his body. Or maybe that was just the aches.

Harry kept walking across the bleak landscape. He tried to recall what had happened right before he had woken up but could only recall brief flashes of it. He could recall that it had been very dark, also quite cold. Harry could vaguely recall Dudley's face there, so perhaps he was there too?

Harry's thoughts unconsciously moved to remembering his rotund cousin. Harry could visualize his round face, snacking on a ridiculously large hot dog with a gleeful expression on his face. His hair was well combed and the Smeltings uniform he was wearing crisp and clean, though the crumbs that Dudley's snacking created was quickly dirtying up the white shirt.

Without warning, the image in Harry's mind disappeared, projecting itself onto the floor in-front of him. Harry yelped in surprise, desperately covering himself up as he watched a moving image of Dudley eating a hotdog on the barren white floor. It was quite akin to that of the moving pictures that Harry had seen so many of in the past few years, as unsettling as it were.

A sudden thought suddenly dawned on Harry. He closed his eyes and imagined himself wearing a simple set of clothes that Daphne had all but forced him to buy from Gladrags not long after the second task. It had grown to been one of his most commonly worn clothes, simply because they were actually his size and not Dudley's hand-me-downs.

To his surprise, Harry felt the sensation of fabric touching his skin as he looked down to see the black shirt and matching trousers that he had grown accustomed to wearing. It felt slightly strange to be clothed again after so much time spent without any on but Harry was not going to complain.

The image of Dudley eating his hotdog had faded from the floor as Harry contemplated what to do next. He closed his eyes once again, trying to remember what had happened, concentrating as hard as he could on the small fragments of memory that he could. He was somewhere close to Privet Drive, probably Magnolia or something. It was quite dark, even though it wasn't that late yet for some reason…

When Harry reopened his eyes, he found a makeshift version of Magnolia Road had been imported onto the area around him. There were bits and pieces of it missing, an odd house or two that should probably be in places but it was more or less how Harry could remember it, albeit completely shaded white rather than the tiled greys, browns and blues.

Harry looked around in amazement at what he had created. He took a few steps in the direction away from Privet, towards the park where he would usually hang around. His vague memories seemed to point to that being an important part of what he was doing before coming to this bizarre place. Harry's eyes darted around, marvelling at the rows and rows of houses that he had seemingly erected out of nothing. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the small alleyway that he had once run down when he was being chased by Dudley and his gang many years ago.

A sudden pain erupted in his head as he looked at that small alleyway. A veritable haziness surrounded his head as he decided to walk towards the alleyway. Perhaps it would lead to something? It was the only hint he had for now.

"I would highly recommend against doing that, Harry."

Harry froze in surprise. He swiftly turned around as he began processing the voice he had heard. It felt strangely familiar, yet at the same time so very different. A few meters away, Harry noticed a mop of signature red hair. His jaw dropped in surprise.

"Ron?" he choked out. 'Ron' gave him a wry smile, a look that Harry had never seem before displayed on his best friend's face. A silvery cloak hung loosely from his best friend's back, easily covering his entire frame. A long black wand was unsheathed, though pointed downwards in a peaceful manner. Lastly, a large black diamond ring could be seen on his left hand.

"Not exactly, Harry."

The boy's eyes narrowed. Harry briefly concentrated, using what little he had made sense of this strange space to think of a way to defend himself. The figure looked at him casually as Harry manifested his wand in hand.

"Who are you," Harry tersely enunciated. 'Ron's' face broke out in a familiar grin.

"I honestly expected the sword," it replied truthfully, completely ignoring the dangerously poised Harry. Harry frowned. His lips moved, about to cast a spell before he suddenly stopped. A brief flash of gold in his mind cooled his temper as he refocused. The figure's grin widened.

"Greengrass has trained you well. A different you would probably tried to disarm me. Not that it would have done anything. Not in this space anyway" 'Ron' raised 'his' arms and folded them behind 'his' head. Harry frowned and lowered his wand, though keeping it unsheathed.

"Where are we?" he asked, trying his best to put a threatening edge in his voice. The figure smiled once more.

"A place where ends meet, a room where spirits flow from one place to another." Harry frowned at the vague description that was given to him.

"What?" he asked. The figure laughed cheerfully, sowing even more confusion in Harry's mind.

"Alright, I'll stop messing with you, Harry." In an instant, the area around them changed from Magnolia Road to another strange place. Unlike the last one, it appeared that they were standing atop a field of white clouds. The 'sky' above them was equally white, giving the entire place a sense of blankness. In the distance, a stream of white seemed to rush towards some sort of structure which Harry couldn't make out.

"A place where ends meet, Harry, think about that for a moment." Harry's frustration was beginning to give way to his burgeoning sense of foreboding. He unconsciously took a few steps forward.

"I would highly suggest you not do that, Harry," came the voice, much more sharply this time. Harry snapped out of his daze, his heart falling as he looked fearfully at the figure behind him.

"Am … I… dead?" he asked hollowly. To his relief, the figure shook his head.

"Not exactly, though if you had taken a few more steps you most certainly would be,"

Harry almost collapsed to the floor in relief, as though a great weight had been taken off his body. However, that still left a few unanswered questions.

"If I'm not dead then where are we?" he asked. The figure sighed.

"I hoped that you would have gotten it by now," it said with a hint of disappointment in it's tone. "Where we are goes by many names. Limbo, Nihility, Border, Veil, many names for a simple place." Harry looked owlishly at the figure as another question dawned on him.

"Who are you?" The wry smile returned.

"That took longer than expected. I thought that Greengrass or Hermione would have drilled it into you to be more questioning and aware. Perhaps later…" The figure paused, as though it were in deep thought for a few moments before it looked back at Harry.

"I am one known of by many faces. Shinigami, Hades, Angra Mainyu, Stranger … I suppose the simplest I have been deemed would be Death." Harry froze.

Words could not describe what he was feeling at this moment. Though, it was hardly fair to criticize him for seizing up when he was being told that death was quite literally in his presence. Ordinarily, he would have brushed it off as a mere joke that Ron and his siblings had conjured up, laughing it off as Fred or George would explain one of the tricks they had used in their intricate ruse. This however was too surreal, too outlandish even for the imaginations of the Weasley twins.

"I can understand your shock, though in fairness, Fred and George do make some pretty decent illusions, at their level anyway." Harry blinked a few times.

"Are you–"

"Telepathic? This is my domain. Well, one of them at least," Death replied, beginning to sound impatient. Harry looked mildly surprised and turned back around to see the figure.

"Why do you look like Ron then?" he asked slightly timidly. Death grinned.

"How many people would lose themselves when they learned that they had perished? Not many reach peace with their demise before they pass. Being in the form of whom they can communicate most effectively helps the most." Harry stared at a moment before nodding slowly. With a grin, the cloaked figure redrew its wand. The silvery cloak it donned billowed as though carried by a non-existent wind.

"Perhaps this would suit your fancy a bit more," Death said with a grin. The long black wand was raised for a moment and for a moment, the whiteness around them became blinding. Harry instinctively shielded his eyes from the light, only to notice that the light had faded before he even had time to block it. He lowered his arms for a moment, his eyes widening as his mouth opened slightly.

Standing in place of his best friend's guise was a woman that Harry could not recognize. His first thought was that Daphne was standing before him, from the shoulder-length blonde tresses and stylish black-and-green dress that he could see her wearing on a day out in muggle London. However, he could see some of the minute differences between his friend and the 'person' in front of him.

The woman was quite clearly older than Daphne, though her height did not seem to be much taller. Unlike Daphne, the 'person's' slightly unkempt hair had light brown highlights which mixed very nicely with her light blonde locks. The cool expression that Daphne almost always wore was replaced with a sunny disposition that he had grown accustomed to see on Tracey's face, though in a more mature and worldly way. Her posture was firm, yet opening, conveying an innate sense of intelligence, almost as though she were exuding a shimmering radiance in how she carried herself.

Harry heard a soft giggle and he abruptly realized that he had been staring at the blonde 'woman' for quite some time now.

"I don't think Lord Greengrass would appreciate it much if he knew you were checking out his wife like this, nor would Daphne be happy about her boyfriend looking at her mother in this way," the 'woman' said teasingly

Harry's eyes widened and he instinctively leapt back slightly as the blonde giggled cheerfully. Harry felt a rush of blood in his cheeks as he forcibly looked away from the dazzling woman in front of him.

"I suppose this form would be a little too distracting then," came the melodious voice once more. Harry could feel his face burning and quickly nodded.

"Very well." Another blinding light washed over the area which ended as quickly as it came. Harry peeked tentatively and spotted that Death had changed its form once more, this time to another woman.

A few snippets of memory were dredged up by the 'her' long red locks, matched almost too perfectly by her bright-green eyes. A pert, yet kind smile adorned her face and Harry quickly recognized who she was. His mother.

"How do I look?" came a warm, motherly voice. Harry was immediately confronted with memories long since lost of a loving mother and her child. Her voice was kind and gentle, much unlike the memories he had…

Harry almost collapsed onto the floor as a memory he had fought so hard to keep hidden resurfaced again. Unearthly, dying screams of his anguished mother which had haunted his nightmares, a vision that he had seen many times last year when exposed to dementors. The light briefly shone once more and Harry looked up to see a concerned looking expression on his best friend's face.

"Apologies for that," came Ron's voice. Harry got up shakily. It wasn't like him to fall so easily, especially to something that he thought he had already conquered all that time ago when learning the Patronus charm. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

"This place also serves as a reflection your memories," murmured Death as he looked around the white area. "Catharsis of all variations to be had for a passing soul." Death looked back at Harry, who had been staring intently at it.

"That will be it for now, I have other matters to attend to," Death said in a very un-Ron like manner. Harry blinked for a few moments, looking surprised.

"What do I do here then? How do I get back?" Harry asked. Another grin flashed on 'Ron's' face.

"Be patient, Harry, your time has yet to come." With those words, Death seemingly vanished, leaving Harry alone in the vast white landscape.

* * *

 _Date: ?_

An indeterminate amount of time had passed since Harry had last seen the shapeshifting creature that had called itself Death. In his boredom, Harry had found himself wandering the place, which had continued to build itself from his memories and thoughts. At one point, Harry wondered if there was something he could read and moments later found himself in a vacant version of the Hogwarts library, chock full of books, seats and tables for his use.

Even the Restricted section was perfectly recreated, even though Harry had not been here since his second-year adventures where he had first been introduced to the exceedingly useful (and horribly tasting) Polyjuice Potion. With nothing much better to do, Harry sat down at a seat that he imagined up and decided to begin reading. To his surprise and slight annoyance, many of the 'books' that had been conjured up in the library were virtually unreadable by him, whether they were in different languages or simply too advanced for him to comprehend.

Death, or whatever he was called, had not appeared again since their last encounter, which had basically left Harry bored and alone in the vast white landscape. It was more boring than irritating, really, Harry thought as he stood up from his seat. The library around him dissolved away as he moved from the area. Harry tried to think about what he could imagine up.

The endless white plain in front of him mirrored his current thoughts on his situation. It had been far worse than anything Harry had to endure for long durations of time. Sure, the excruciating pain of the Basilisk's venom was painful, as were the distrusting, callous looks that he had to endure in that same year were both horrible experiences but he had his friends then. With no-one to talk to and nothing to do, a harrowing sense of fear was beginning to seep into his mind. What if he could never return? His thoughts returned to the strange castle he saw when Death had last talked to him. Should he take the–

"Bored I see?" a voice called. Harry jumped, startled, and turned around to look at the grinning face of his best friend.

"What am I supposed to do here?" Harry asked loftily. The figure continued to grin.

"The Fates are somewhat riled about you right now, you know, messing up the events that were supposed to happen. Course it wasn't really your fault, since it was the younger Greengrass who … ah spoilers." Harry looked owlishly at the figure in front of him, who seemed to be leaning on a marble pillar or something. Harry looked around quickly and saw that they had been seemingly transported to a pyramidal structure. Concentric squares appeared to encircle the structure which lead up to a giant arch.

It was massive, to the point where Harry couldn't even see the top of it. Each side was a few meters thick, seemingly made of some sort of glowing stone. Etched within the stone were innumerable strange shapes – runes, Harry idly recalled from one of Daphne's rambles – which caused the entire structure to emit an eerie glow. However, stranger still was what seemed to be within the archway itself.

A peculiar, almost cloth-like silvery lining could be barely seen inside the arch, reminding Harry of something that he had seen very often. The boy blinked for a moment and looked up. Somehow, he had unsuspectingly walked up the flight of stairs, all the way to the edge of the giant arch. Harry looked to Death, who seemed to be watching Harry casually. Seeing no reaction from the other being, Harry reached out and touched the velvety material.

And suddenly he could feel everything.

The sound of birds, a warm breeze, the smell of morning grass. A veritable explosion of sensory information overloaded Harry, causing him to fall to the ground. The senses that he hadn't used in so long felt overloaded and Harry immediately felt nauseous. Somewhat dizzy, he stood back up. Looking back at the creature that had brought him here, he was surprised to see the being had crossed the staircase that lead up to the arch.

"What… what was that?" Harry asked breathlessly. Death seemed to frown, it was rather hard to tell.

"It is a portal, from the mortal world to here. Mortals, as usual, have many names for the gate. Some call it the Nexus of Nihility, others call it a Veil," Death supplied. Harry's eyes widened.

"So this is the way back?" he asked with a wondrous tone. Before he could fill himself with the joyous feeling, Death shook his head.

"Unfortunately no, as this is usually only a one-way portal. I for one am able to pass through," he said, demonstrating this by extending his hand through the material. "I would have thought…" Death seemed lost in thought but Harry had already tuned him out. The brief instance where he was able to sense the world, to hear, to smell, to feel, it was painful, evermore so now that he had been denied access to it now.

"I am terribly sorry, Harry." Death said, looking quite apologetic. In an instant, the pair appeared in some other part of the space. A pair of comfy looking armchairs, reminiscent of the ones that Harry had enjoyed sitting on in the Gryffindor common room, appeared. Death took a seat.

"For that little experimental failure, I will answer a few questions you may be having. Unfortunately, I cannot divulge the future to you, not that I really can anyway. No-one really can until Skuld writes it out …" Harry looked blankly at Death. For a brief moment, he had hope that he could escape this maddening void but … but …

"Am I trapped here forever?" Harry choked out. He was doing his best to keep his emotions in check but this was getting too much to him. Death shook his head with a small smile.

"It is not your time yet, Harry, that much is certain. In actuality, you shouldn't even be here now. You're about… three years too early to be stuck here in Limbo. And since Thomas Marvolo would be alive at that time, you wouldn't have been stuck here for long. Like then, you are given the choice to live or die, though I can see that you pick the former now…"

Harry blinked a few times. He was supposed to… what? Thomas Marvolo? Harry walked himself to the opposite armchair from Death. The creature grinned.

"I am supposed to … die?" Harry asked.

"Death comes to all," Death replied "You are a special case, one who greets Death as an old friend. Or would have greeted, as the case may be." Harry didn't really know what to think. The whole situation was crazy itself, even more so that when he first discovered magic all those years ago. Shrugging in defeat, Harry looked back at Death.

"So I was supposed to … wait how did I end up here again?" Harry asked. As anger-inducing as it had been, Harry had been unable to figure out how he had ended up here. He surmised that he had been fighting something before he ended up here. All he could recall was feeling indescribably cold, as though he would never feel happy again…

"Dementors?" Harry asked. Death nodded.

"I suppose the British call them that," Death answered, "Most cultures call them demons of despair, or something like that. The creatures' proper name is somewhat closer 'shards of death'. After all, they do originate from this dimension."

Harry's eyes widened. He had spent quite some time two years ago learning as much as he could about the foul creatures, mainly to dredge up as much information as he could about combating them.

"I thought they were formed from negative human emotions?" Harry asked, truly intrigued. Death smiled.

"Dementors are drawn to the mortal plane by those negative emotions. They do not simply create themselves out of nothing. Even in magic, laws apply," Death reminded, waving an arm. A set of numbers and letters appeared in thin air. "Hermione would be able to tell you more about it, bloody smart girl she is, so ask her about conservation laws when you have the time." Harry looked blankly at Death, who chuckled.

"Anyways, back to what we had been discussing," Death said, dematerializing the equation from the space. "You were brought here by one of the shards on the date you call July 7th, 1995. A skirmish at Little Whinging, one which should have occurred about a month in the timeline. Harry James Potter should have beat back the dementors that were sent by a certain Dolores Jane Umbridge to attack him, albeit under very different circumstances."

Harry's ability to mask his surprise completely failed him as he gawked at Death, who could not be looking any more casual in his slouched position. It was one that Harry had seen Ron take many, many times during their longer studying sessions.

"… what?" came his eloquent reply. Death smiled.

"Following this, Harry would return to Hogwarts, facing a number of challenges and obstacles before facing the resurrected Thomas Marvolo Riddle in single combat. His triumph brings peace to the British Wizarding World, at least until the spawn of Riddle threatens the timeline years later."

Harry blinked a few more times owlishly. "Why… why are you telling me this?" he asked slowly. Death shrugged.

"This information will neither do you good nor harm. A timeline of what was supposed to be, contrasted by what is now. In that time, Greengrass and you would not have a proper conversation for many years until the time you visit her in Azkaban. She attempts to assassinate you in a haphazard effort to avenge her late father, who dies amongst Riddle's forces in the final battle. It is actually quite an interesting story…"

Harry's jaw dropped to the ground. The blonde's face flashed in his mind, the cool expression that she always wore, with that almost-smile that he had begun to see on her face recently. It was quite hard to imagine that the girl who had so ardently helped him through his trials, who had taught him so much was meant to … try to kill him?

"Daphne is supposed too…" Harry trailed off. His attempt to rationalize the thought failed. Death shrugged.

"You need not worry about that, Harry," he said reassuringly. "The premises that would have led to that incident have been avoided. Ronald's little incursion into the Death Eaters' hunt was rather apt…" Death trailed off here, as though he were reminiscing about an event that was dear to him. Harry blinked.

"So Daphne is not going to kill me?" Harry asked unsurely. Death laughed.

"Who knows? Perhaps Skuld will write it as such? Or would Verthandi change an event like she did with the ball? Though if it were my guess, Greengrass will never be able to kill you, no matter how much she thinks she wants to…"

Death shook his head. "We're getting off-track again. In what was supposed to be, the dementor incursion occurs on August 2nd. Unlike what happened in this timeline, you are able to fight off the dementors without too much trouble. In fairness though, that version of you did not have to worry about two more people in the vicinity other than your oaf of a cousin. You also did not have to deal with the residual effects of the _River of Stars_."

Harry frowned as he remembered what Death was speaking of. It was slight but Harry could remember feeling more drained that usual in the days following the tournament. His reflexes were slower, his spells casts lethargic and general mental acuity had decreased a little. It wasn't anything major and Harry had mostly attributed it to fatigue from the tournament.

"So Fleur's spell … made me weaker?" Harry asked curiously. Death shrugged.

"Close. It weakened the phoenix tears in your bloodstream, which indirectly strengthened the basilisk venom that is there as well. Fleur's _River of Stars_ used to counteract Krum's _Draco Meteor_ was very well placed, reversing the charms that Krum had used while also clearing both you and Cedric out of the way. Very cunning, very veela."

Harry nodded slowly. It still didn't make too much sense to him but he felt that asking further would simply make him more confused.

"So … what now?" he asked, scratching the back of his head. Death smiled.

"Well, you can continue to wait for whatever is going to bring you back to the mortal realm. Since you can't just pass through the Nexus, I assume that some resurrection spell of some sort would have to be cast…" Death's face darkened somewhat and Harry was briefly remined of whom he was conversing with.

"And knowing that insufferable bastard, it will be Thomas Marvolo who will do something utterly stupid. Fracturing and displacing his soul into those infernal contraptions is stupid enough. Trying to brew Persephone's Lament goes beyond that. Whatever he could try to do to bring himself back would just bring even more suffering to the mortal plane," Death said with distaste. "And more work for me," he added with an afterthought.

Harry was once again caught off-guard by the information that he was given.

"Wait… Voldemort get revived?" he asked stupendously. Death arched an eyebrow, forming a very strange expression on Ron's face.

"I believe I told you that earlier. Regardless yes. Thomas Marvolo is essentially fated to return, as much as you wish to delay it. Death comes to all after all, be it gods or demons. A being that tries to defy death will only receive death's retribution tenfold, so as I say so mote it be." Death rose from his seat and Harry found himself following suit. The figure began to seemingly levitate himself as he looked down at Harry.

"Sorry to cut our discussion short but there are things to attend to." Death turned and began to fade from view. Harry's eyes widened.

"Wait!" he called.

Harry shouted once more in vain as he found himself left alone again in the deep blank void.

* * *

 _Date: ?_

Harry had continued to wander the area. As it had been, time was impossible to tell in the infinitely expansive void that was around him. Death had left him with so many questions that he couldn't rest, not that it was very easy to rest here. The blinding nature of the area made it quite difficult to sleep, not that Harry really felt the compulsion to do so.

Seeing that Death did not seem to return any time soon, Harry resolved to wander around until he would find something that would help him with a way out of here. The 'nexus' that Death had brought him to was his only clue and so Harry was resolutely trying to find it again. Many a normal person would have stayed put but Harry Potter was no such person. It wasn't in his nature to stay still.

His mind imagined up a scenery that he had seen quite a few times, the idyllic and peaceful countryside that lined the path of the Hogwarts Express. Harry had always found it somewhat relaxing to look out the window on his journeys on the train. When going to Hogwarts, the trips gave him some time to prepare for the year while leaving behind the mundane Little Whinging for as long as he could. Coming back was his short moment of respite between the misadventures of the previous year and his time that he would spend at 'home'. It also served him well as it was the longest route that he could think up to any degree of accuracy.

Harry began his walk, strolling down what would have been train tracks as he began to think. Some time had passed since Death had given him a veritable expositional dump and it had taken him around this long to process most of what he had learnt.

Timelines and whatnot were not too difficult to understand for the young wizard, as he could equate his experiences in his third year when he saved Sirius and Buckbeak from the Ministry's clutches. What was more difficult to comprehend was everything else.

If he were to be completely honest, Harry would admit that he had thought of the possibility of transcending death, a feeling that had been first incited by the Mirror of Erised and furthered by the numerous haunting visions that he had experienced under the influence of dementors. Hermione had reminded him time and time again that since life was one of the exceptions to Gamp's laws of Transfiguration, it was impossible to revive the dead in any capacity. Then the creature supposedly personifying death tells him otherwise, though had warned about the consequences.

Harry found himself walking further and further into the void, ignoring the voice at the back of his head telling him to not stray too far. It was far too boring to stay back where he was, no matter how he could use his imagination to create landscapes around him. While Harry had been used to staying solitary from the many years he had spent under the Dursleys' collective shoe, this was getting a little much.

Around him, Harry began to see that his imagined path was beginning to contort strangely. The air around him seemed to get heavier, which was a bizarre feeling to Harry, who had not felt air pressure in so long. Each step he took felt heavier and heavier, as though gravity itself was growing stronger as he journeyed farther into the void. The path had now collapsed, leaving only the blinding white void in front of him.

And the it all changed.

Colors flooded his mindscape as Harry felt the world around him contort impossibly. He wanted to scream but no sound came out as he fell dizzily to the ground. Harry felt as though he had been unceremoniously dropped in a pensieve. He got up from him sprawled position on the ground and looked around.

The place he found himself was completely unrecognizable. It appeared to be the inside of some temple, though not one that Harry had ever seen before. Harry peeked out what he assumed to be a window, seeing a very clear night sky. Harry blinked as he looked at the constellations above him. While he wasn't very attentive in Astronomy class (something that Hermione had admonished him about regularly), he was quite certain that the constellations were not supposed to look like that. Not to mention how clear the sky was…

A feminine ear-piercing shriek sounded, causing Harry to jump in surprise. He turned around, looking into the darkness that was further into the temple. He could barely make out the figure of two people deeper inside. Another shriek came from the same person. Harry could hear another female voice speaking in a language that he could not recognize.

Harry took a few steps closer to the women to see if he had any means of helping. However, he found himself colliding with an invisible object before he could even ascend the first step to what was becoming more apparent as an altar.

The sun was beginning to arise behind them, illuminating the temple much more. Harry's eyes widened as he saw what was happening, a child was being born. The second woman's words were becoming more frantic as the sun began to creep up farther and farther. Harry could only watch, spellbound in his position as he watched the event unfold in front of him.

As the sun behind him fully arose, illuminating the whole temple with its golden rays, Harry gasped in wonder as he saw the small child that had been born. The first woman, the child's mother, appeared to have fainted and the midwife was holding up the new-born. A single ray of light from the sun shone through a hole in the roof, hitting the middle of the baby's forehead. The midwife gasped.

" _Apollo..."_ she murmured, her voice a deathly whisper.

Suddenly she turned around, seemingly looking straight at Harry. Harry started, just remembering that he wasn't supposed to be there as his surroundings changed once more. He could see brief flashes, of a boy quickly growing into a man. It was easy to see the resemblance between the baby Harry had seen born and the rather surly looking man that seemed to be the central focus of the visions he could see.

The man was now wearing a set of ultramarine robes, holding a golden staff that was stylized after a snake. He donned an olive wreath on his head and appeared to be talking with colleagues with similar dress. Harry's eyes widened as he began to realize what he was seeing as the vision changed again.

The man was bound by large, heavy looking pieces of metal. He had not aged considerably though it was clear that quite some time had passed since Harry had seen him last. The man was raving, though Harry could not hear a word that was being said. An important looking group was standing around him and the most important looking one seemed shout out something. Harry deduced that this was some sort of court and watched the man. For a moment, the man stopped raving, a sinister smirk plastered on his face. Harry's eyes widened and was about to yell when the man appeared to explode. Harry screamed as the surroundings changed once more.

The area around him continued to twist, now only short instances could be seen before they would change before him. Harry watched as the man stood before what appeared to be a giant sphinx, then a man cloaked completely in gold and then a stone giant. The man fell every time but never backed away, each time his visage becoming more and more serpentine. Eventually, his adversaries faded away but someone would always take their place.

Another scene flashed and Harry watched as the snake-like man lead a giant horde of snakes, rushing towards what appeared to be a giant army of Chinese men. With a loud clash, the leader of these men, some great bearded man clad in blue, struck at his adversary with a shining sword. The serpentine man smirked as his staff glowed a bright gold, turning a majority of his adversary's troops to stone. The blue-clad man could only watch in horror as the thousands of men he had previously commanded had been petrified. In an instant, his eyes glowed a fierce rage and he struck his blade at the serpentine man once more. Harry shouted out but could only watch helplessly as the scenery around him changed.

The scene this time was strangely familiar to Harry. He was on a plain, with a burning village nearby. Harry could see a small group of four people slowly hobbling out. Out of these four, one of them appeared to be heavily injured as she was draped on the back of the largest looking one. As they walked closer, Harry couldn't help but feel that he had seen these people before.

"Helga..." the other girl in the party said glumly. The injured girl could not respond, even with the large boy's jostling. With a start, Harry recognized the man.

"Worry not, Lady Ravenclaw," came a monotone voice that Harry vaguely recognized. He glanced at the other boy in the clearing, already knowing who this person was – a much younger version of Salazar Slytherin.

"He will pay," came the rough voice of the larger boy. Harry watched in awe as he realized that he was looking at the four founders, who had now begun walking further towards Harry.

Harry was about to call to them as the scene changed even more. The transition this time was much more violent and Harry could see as time passed. Unlike last time, the plain in front of him did not change. What he could see however was glimpses and flashes of a gigantic battle, with massive snakes – basilisks, he recognized, dragons and other creatures fighting against hordes of men, clashing infinitely. Until nothing.

An eerie darkness settled in for a moment before Harry's vision became enveloped in a bright light again. He felt himself yanked violently from his position and then thrown onto the ground. Extremely dizzy, he looked up to see a rather stern expression on Death's visage.

"How much did you see?" he all but demanded. Harry blinked. He opened his mouth to answer but found that not words came from his mouth. Death looked straight at him critically and frowned.

"That Verthandi has no business dealing with those in my domain…" he muttered quietly before turning back to Harry.

"I am not going to answer any questions that you might have about what you saw, not that it …" Death stopped abruptly in his sentence as his expression soured greatly.

"Damn you Skuld!" he cursed loudly into the nothingness above him. Harry backed away quickly, worried what an angry death would do. Fortunately, he calmed almost as quickly as his temper had arisen.

"No matter," he said dismissively. Death turned back to Harry. "It seems your time is now, Harry."

Death tapped Harry's shoulder and the two were seemingly transported to another location. Harry looked around. He was back in the large blank void, vacant of everything apart from what appeared to be a giant slab of stone. A large number of runes could be seen marking the stone slab. Death guided Harry towards the stone slab, where Harry could see a figure stuck to the rock. With a gasp, he realized that it was the serpentine man he had just seen.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Avenger. Shouldn't you be trapped in a cup right around now?" the old, snake-like man croaked out. The man had not seemed to have aged much since the last vision Harry had of him, though it was obvious that he had lived a great many years.

Death seemed unconcerned about what had been said of him and instead waved his hand at the stone. Immediately, the stone vanished and the old man dropped to the ground.

"The time is now, god-slayer," Death said with surprisingly terseness. Harry tensed up as the old man got up from his prone position. Every cell in Harry's body was yelling at him to get away from this dangerous man, who now looked directly at him.

"Thor? Is that you?" the old man asked, leering at Harry. With a grunt, he withdrew his head. "Bah, maybe in another lifetime." The man turned back to Death, who was now barely masking his contempt for the man.

"My choice is life, of course," the old man said. With a flash of white light, he was gone. Harry looked surprised as he turned back to Death, who was staring a hole at the position that the man had been.

"Who…" Harry asked.

"No questions," Death interjected tersely. There was a deadly fury in his eyes, one that Harry had never seen his friend have. It was honestly quite chilling to see such an expression on his face.

"Pray that you are ready for him when he comes…" Death said quietly, almost as though he were talking to someone else. Death turned back towards Harry.

"Your choice now, Harry. To return to the mortal plane and live. Or to defy fate and pass on." Harry barely process the words.

"Bring me back," he said automatically. Death shrugged.

"As you wish." As these words were said, a bright light engulfed Harry as he felt himself begin to disappear. He turned back to Death, who now had a strange expression on his face, as though the figure wanted to say something. For an instant, Death's composure broke.

"Tell me to save Tr…"

Harry felt himself yanked from Limbo, unable to hear the entirety of the last message.

* * *

 _Date: Tuesday October 31_ _st_ _, 1995_

 _Location: British Ministry of Magic Level 9: Department of Mysteries, Analysis Room 585-789_

Harry tried sitting up to no avail as he found his body aching even more than what it had when he had first woken up in Limbo.

 _"Great… now where am I,"_ he mentally grumbled. Without warning, a large flash appeared behind him.

"Harry James Potter."

* * *

 _Spells Used/Mentioned:_

 _Ryuseigun – Meteor-Shower Spell_

 _Fleuve d'étoiles – River of Stars Spell_

 _A/N: Sorry this is a week later than usual and further apologise as I may not be able to update at the regular pace since finals are beginning to loom._

 _ **Next Time – A Gathering of Minds**_


End file.
